


Ic æalá Ŏu [I See You]

by AnalystProductions



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, BBC is a destroyer of souls, Complete, Dark, Drama, Epic, FINALLY I FINISHED IT, Fantasy, M/M, Slash, epic fantasy, i see you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 283,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnalystProductions/pseuds/AnalystProductions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon, heir to Camelot Enterprise - the biggest superpower on the earth, knew that the world was facing an energy crisis. Something needed to be done. But the last thing he expected was the 'Albion Project', a new plan to excavate in the druid's sacred homeland. As Camelot Enterprise discovers outstanding deposits of oil within the Crystal Cave, home to the Ealdor clan, morals and the essence of humanity itself are put to the test. One thing Arthur was completely certain of: falling in love with a druid was definitely not part of the agenda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting on A03 (excitement!). Sorry if there are any formatting errors or I've done something wrong, tried to do everything right. Really hope you guys enjoy this story, it's taken a very long time to plan and write!! 
> 
> I decided to rate it T. I may change that later on, but that's what I've settled for at the moment. 
> 
> What language is the magic in?  
> I’ve used Old English for Druid words. I have tried my best to be grammatically accurate with it and used a very helpful resource to try and validate words. But I can’t guarantee it’s perfect, I’m no expert! I have made a lot of words up in my own hybrid language too. Definitions will be provided for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the Rating to M due to intense/dark themes and violence/disturbing scenes that occur later in the story.

There were five people in the large room. It was scarcely lit by fancy chandeliers with dimmed bulbs; the curtains were pulled tightly closed, barricading any intrusion of the sun. To be more precise, there were five people in  _Uther Pendragon's office_ , indicated by the regal dragon figurine on the desk beside the golden name platter. Three of these strangers were standing to the corners of the room, gazing at the scenario unfolding in the centre compellingly. It was as if some mysterious gravitational force lured in their attention, unwilling to release them. At the centre of this pull, a man -  _no_ – a druid was sprawled on his knees weakly, bound by peculiar bronze chains around the wrists and ankles. Behind him a man in smart attire stood with a stern expression, his gun scraped the back of the druid's head.

The final man of course was Uther Pendragon. Pacing around the room, he stared dismally at the sight before him. Of  _all_ people, this was someone he had  _trusted,_ had never thought would betray him in such a way. Snarling darkly, the figure turned on his heel, knuckles white from tension. Yesterday evening, the traitor had been caught  _practicing magic-_ within these very walls, committing treason under the nose of those who deemed it so _._ Shuddering at the very thought of this despicable behaviour, he stopped pacing.

"All these years you've been  _lying_ to me." He stated. The shadows consumed the majority of his face, just as they had done with his heart. "…Hiding what you really are."

No response. Uther pressed his palms into the wooden desk vehemently, head bowed.

"You came from…  _Albion_ no doubt." The word Albion fell from his mouth like it was diseased.

The druid on his knees raised his head calmly. Surprisingly, there was no futile attempt at escape, or a desperate begging for mercy as many would have tried. To the druid, his face weathered with age and matted white hair to his shoulders, it seemed all too late. Either way, he was going  _there._  Pleading guilty against the charges would take him there, pleading innocent would take him there; even saying nothing would take him there. Once the tyrannous Uther Pendragon had a suspicion that there was an  _inkling_  of magic in your veins, he would be determined to flush it out. The druid knew this better than anyone; he had bore witness to this monstrosity countless times. His friends, people who once  _believed_ in Camelot and all it stood for, they had all perished under the hand of Uther and a human race indoctrinated by gluttony and endless want. Eyes misting over with sorrow, the druid finally spoke.

"It's the only place our kind can take refuge. You've destroyed every inch of trust the druids ever had for the human race."

Uther's body faced the shadows, and he shut his eyes. At that exact moment two figures barged through the doors, fumbling forwards urgently. Both were drawn to the spectacle in the centre of the room, immobile with shock as he gave his verdict.

"Take him to the lab-"

Attention instantly shifted to the entrance of the office, the bright light behind the two figures outlined their silhouettes like deities, fighting in the name of justice.

"- _What_ is the meaning of this?" one of them exclaimed, an undercurrent of anger lacing their voice. Confusion and hurt quickly swathed over their complexion. The other figure chose not to allow the evident scandal to affect their demeanour. Furiously, they took a step forwards.

"- _Don't_ touch him!" they spat venomously.

Making his way round the desk at a predatory pace, Uther narrowed his eyes at the two figures.

"You," the male at the doorway felt his resolution crumble at the voice; the female remained bold. " _dare_ defy me?"

 

****

His father had taught him practically from  _birth_ that there was no room to indulge in one's imagination. Imagination was dangerous – an ancient concept forged by  _their kind_. Imagination had to be harnessed and used only for the formation of products that were realistic, practical for  _business_. It was certainly not for manifesting fictional truths. Nor was it for envisaging the vast terrain miles away from the infinite roads, towering grey buildings, and dreary smog-filled days in Camelot. He was foolish enough to have dreamt of visiting Mercia's lush forest once, one of the only remaining forests to date. When he'd told his father, he was merely scolded.

"Show more appreciation for the safe city you live in."

Thus, Arthur Pendragon had put to rest the dreams of the natural world, the desire to leave the towering walls of this city, and the many others he would find himself caged inside years to come. His father believed Fairytales came hand in hand with imagination, and inspired juvenile,  _dangerous_ thoughts. Therefore, they were forbidden in the Pendragon household; Gaius read him ' _A history of Camelot Enterprise'_ instead, which apparently was far more beneficial (it had lulled Arthur to sleep through its long words and sheer monotony, that was for sure!).

Arthur had never been one to rebel against his father, even during childhood a fierce obedience began to sprout, eyes morphing with reverence and respect for the colossal figure, and the future  _he_  had been granted as his only son. But that didn't stop  _her_ from protesting _._ There were nights when the mischievous dark-haired girl – orphaned at the age of ten months and taken in by his father - would sneak into his room, smuggling all sorts of clandestine books: Cinderella, Snow White…He was sure not even the gods knew where she got them from; apparently all the books had been purged, and some more valuable copies were locked away forever.

' _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets'_  was definitely one of his favourites. His eyes percolated with awe and marvel whenever Morgana was in a nice enough mood to lend him  _that_ book. A story focused around courage, bravery to do what was right and of course ma-

-Harry Potter, at times, reminded him of himself. Not because of his valour – Arthur had nightmares for  _weeks_ about that bloody Basilisk, resorting to keeping the bedside lamp on  _all night_ \- but mainly the curiosity and inability to overlook what many would. More peculiar was the way  _it_ was perceived. Yes, there were some who used it for evil. But others wielded the skill for the name of justice. Some nights, it would keep him awake, wondering and  _imagining._ He had to be cautious back then, and read only a chapter a night –sometimes less- before slipping it back under Morgana's door on the way down for breakfast. She had always been better at hiding things than Arthur.

After all  _any_  utterance of the M word would result in a  _serious_ punishment, his father had reiterated this time and time again.

In fact, any utterance of the M word  _anywhere_ would result in nothing but trouble and condemnation.

Sometimes, when Arthur was young enough to enjoy life and lack understanding in his future, (a row of crooked teeth, his face dusted in light freckles) he would roll the luxurious red duvet off, and climb out of the bed which could have swallowed him and at  _least_ six other children whole. Delicately, he would scoop up the silver chain kept hidden in his mahogany bedside drawer, and clutch onto it tightly. Then, he would sit on the window ledge, admiring the infinite canvas of black, divergent against hundreds,  _thousands,_ of twinkling stars. With his _imagination,_ he would make shapes out of the stars, mould them into forbidden creatures with his eyes and bring them to life with his reeling mind.

The necklace gripped in his hands was his mother's necklace. Hanging from the silver chain was a Merlin bird, it's wings outstretched in a majestic stance.

Now twenty-two years of age, Arthur still wore the chain around his neck everyday. But the days of stargazing and bursts of  _imagination_ were long gone. Today, the necklace was nestled underneath his immaculate blue silk shirt and red tie- both designer of course. Chunky navy glasses framed his sapphire eyes, blonde hair combed pristinely over his lightly bronzed skin. Sipping the warm tea from his mug, his eyebrows rose. According to the newspaper in his hands, the official statistics of captured druids in Camelot laboratories had been published. This was not  _new_ news to him. After all he was the  _chief executive,_ top of the business chain – aside from Uther Pendragon. Arthur had been the one to finalise the figures. The laboratory had been running since as long as he could remember, but even he had little knowledge of what exactly went on down there.

It had begun with one lab (Arthur was told the story many times as a child by his proud father) here in Camelot, the head quarters of Camelot Enterprise. To suggest that it would have remained this way would be foolish, even without knowing the views of m… _magic_...his father held. As the business expanded, it had progressed into a political superpower, not only promising to find vast expanses of oil, but to create a  _new_ , efficient energy. In the constant oil strikes, people blinded by fear and despairing investors had latched onto Uther Pendragon's company. It was the  _only_ successful energy supplier to have lasted up to this day and age, where demand was excessively high, and supply was…Arthur frowned. Supply was significantly lower.

This new energy was forged through the extraction of  _magic._ How this was done, Arthur was not entirely sure. He left that to the scientists and just got on with his own job. Some things were best kept secret, unknown. All he knew was that there was now a lab for every C.E office – there were five primary locations scattered across the globe: Camelot, Paris, Tokyo, New York and Sydney. Not to mention the smaller business parks (which still employed over 30,000 people) in China, Germany, Russia, Mexico, you name it. C.E had spread like an infectious virus all across the planet.

Arthur refrained from venturing near the lab. Not because he was scared or remorseful, he just didn't want to acknowledge it. Nobody seemed to be concerned about the moral and ethnic hypocrisy all of this proposed. Despite democracy reigning supreme across the world, the druids were subjected to the utmost discrimination. This prosecution of druids, Arthur knew, had began with his Father: the Magic Containment act of 2085 – underground extremists referred to it as the Great Purge, the destruction of cultural harmony.

This prejudice against the druids had always been visible in human history, but it was only now that the druids were truly prosecuted, discriminated against. Morgana used to recite to him verses of ' _æmryš':_ a compilation of sacred druid texts named after their supposed savoir 'Emrys' – extremely rare. She had been privileged enough to find a tattered copy in a tiny Venetian bookshop. Leon, biologist and furtive scholar on the Druids had  _begged_ to see it; Arthur had tried to throw it into the water, where it belonged. His response had not been well received by both Morgana and Leon.

The book,  _æmryš,_ revealed that the Druids once had lived amongst people. In fact, they had done so for centuries. However, in the last century, they had returned to their 'Holy land': Albion (Aęniän). Albion – just the human name for it dripped with magic and myth. Many doubted whether Albion existed, for it was invisible to the eye, the expanse of land larger than Australia was secured under a constant magical barrier. It was their safe-haven. Unspoiled land. It was a place where they could continue in their primitive, simple means of living without the threat of being taken to labs or court for simply being a druid.

Those that were stupid enough to step into  _this world_ were taken to the labs. Despite the prospect of going to the lab, many druids infiltrated the modern streets, acting as normal people in order to "spy upon the modernised world".

The published figures of druids held in captivity had increased by 60% in the last  _decade_ alone. Arthur didn't really have an opinion on this. It was a positive increase, but whether it was worth celebrating over- it wasn't really his place to say. He knew that Morgana would  _not_ be happy about this. She had no doubt, once again, planned some sort of sick controversial attack on Arthur for supporting his father in this (support, he thought, was perhaps the wrong word.) Last year, she had set free  _ten druids_ – which was  _ridiculous_ – and recklessly harboured them to the safety of Albion through a covert network of  _druidians_ (people without magic who either support and preach the beliefs of the druids or help shelter them when they exit Albion).

He dreaded to think what kind of stunt she had been planning for this year. Work was  _going_ to be hell. Sighing, Arthur glanced down at his watch.  _Shit._ He was  _late-_ again.

Tearing himself away from vast mahogany table he was sat at, immersed in subtle touches of Victorian woodwork and modernist simplicity, he picked up the black briefcase. Holding his hand out he spoke monotonously.

"Keys." The car keys obediently landed in his hand.

At the word 'door' it opened itself, allowing Arthur to step outside onto the dark steps. The sun was shining vividly; the usual thick smog was almost untraceable. As he briskly trotted down each step, Gucci sunglasses framing his eyes, the door behind him closed. The buzzing that echoed through his ears assured him his apartment was locked. Jumping into his sexy -  _he_ thought it was sexy – C.E 2000, a streamline jet-black vehicle with golden-laced interior, Arthur revved the engine complacently. All thoughts of druids and magic were expelled from his head as the booming music shook the car.

Arthur had definitely broken  _all_ the speed limits on his smooth drive to Camelot Enterprise. Any anger anybody had at his outrageous driving melted away in reverence of the beautiful vessel he travelled in. Besides, it didn't matter. He  _was_ Arthur Pendragon; he could do whatever he wanted, within reason. Parking up outside the colossal building (the Camelot Enterprise perimeter stretched for  _miles)_ , he strode up the glass staircase towards a network of codes and heavily monitored steel doors. Flashing his card hastily to the machine, the device buzzed, granting him access. He walked into the main reception hall. Dramatic glass windows peered into other rooms and distant buildings. The tall, towering ceiling continued to astound him every morning, and the large brass statue of his father stood proudly in the centre of the expansive hall. As expected, a woman was rushing towards him over the cerulean-tiled floor, eyes wide. Her long raven hair streaked behind her frantically. Mentally preparing himself for their verbal warfare, Arthur removed the sunglasses from his face, placing them in his suit pocket.

Instead of being greeted by a crude remark, he was struck  _un_ expectedly with an aura of alarm about her person. Agitatedly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him across the hallway wordlessly. A few spectators gazed upon the sight curiously before resuming their business. Drawing his eyebrows together in confusion, Arthur tugged himself free of her grip. The statue of his father towered over him, spilling a dark shadow over the floor.

"Good morning to you  _too."_ He grunted, wiping his creased sleeve extensively.

Morgana swallowed-hard and then whacked him forcefully in the arm. She appeared to be apathetic to his dramatic exhale. Taking a step out of his father's shadow, Arthur glowered at her.

"We don't have much time." She said sternly.

Her feet pushed her forwards promptly in a strident march before he could begin to question her behaviour or what she meant. It was typical of her to withhold information. Flapping his arms to his sides in a huff, Arthur followed out of curiosity  _only_. It would be unfair to say that those piercing, sharp eyes had any control over him whatsoever. The cerulean tiles morphed into a dull yellow, the great hall dwindled into the distance behind their brisk walking. They continued to walk through the thin corridor until it stretched out into a wider network. Morgana steered towards the left- a corridor bathed in white and sparse in decoration. Walking down the corridor briskly, Arthur had established that they were nearing Uther's private office. Rolling his eyes, the blonde blocked Morgana's path.

" _Get out of my way_!"

Her tone was venomous as she took step to the left; Arthur mirrored her steps, avoiding the poison accurately.

"Hasn't this gone on long enough Morgana?"

Drearily, he took a step to the right, predicting her next move. Holding both hands to each side of the wall, he gazed down at the woman with a raised eyebrow. A smirk drifted over his lips. He'd only been here five minutes, and had  _already_ foiled her plans of causing disruption, protest or whatever else she was trying to demonstrate.

"This isn't  _about_ me." She spat; the words peeled the smugness off Arthur's face, morphing the expression into confusion.

Catching his eyes, her turquoise orbs permeated anxiety.

"It's  _Gaius_."

By now Arthur had reached optimum levels of bewilderment. Blinking slowly, he opened his mouth a little, eyebrows raised as if to gesture he required a little more information than  _it's Gaius._  For all he knew that sentence could lead to just about  _anywhere._ Gaius was kind of an enigma. Reaching the door, the pair barged past the protesting guards (more like  _mice,_ Arthur pushed them aside in seconds) and dramatically sprung open the doors. The sight was sickening.

Eyes-wide, he gazed upon the supposed 'druid' on the floor, and heard his father's cold voice resonate through the office.

"Take him to the lab."

Without hesitation, the brutal man standing behind Gaius hauled him up viciously. Attention shifted suddenly to the entrance of the office, the bright light behind the two recent intruders outlined their silhouettes like deities, fighting in the name of justice.

"- _What_ is the meaning of this?" Arthur exclaimed, an undercurrent of anger lacing their voice.

"- _Don't_ touch him!" Morgana spat savagely at the guard, stepping forwards.

The guard shoved past her ignorantly, dragging a silent Gaius down the corridor. Tearing his head towards the sight in shock, Arthur was resolved to run after the man. He was a fast runner, and he could definitely take that guard down  _easy_ after getting the gun out of reach.

"You," Arthur, stood at the doorway, felt his resolution crumble at the voice. He remembered where he was standing, whose wrath was about to be unleashed. " _dare_ defy me?"

The observers of the trial left the room quickly, establishing that this was becoming a personal matter that they had no right to impose on. Morgana's stance didn't falter, lips snarling. Swallowing-hard, Arthur opened his palm in a gesture of urgency. This was  _Gaius_ for crying out loud! A man of sixty-something who had tucked him into bed, cared for him, nursed Morgana,  _advised_ Uther on all decisions. Gaius was like an uncle to Arthur (a far better one than his  _actual_ Uncle Aggravaine – slimy traitor). Meeting Morgana's fearful gaze, he took a step forwards valiantly.

"Father  _please,_ I beg you to reconsider." Though Arthur knew they were too late. There was no changing his father's mind. Uther was resolute in the 'war against evil' as he called it.

"I will hear no more of this." Uther replied sitting down in his leather chair with feigned nonchalance.

Shaking his head, the young Pendragon continued gallantly. His father wasn't  _seeing_ clearly. There was no way Gaius would do anything like this.

"Gaius has  _always_ been a lifelong friend a trusted-" Arthur found himself compelled to silence as his father lifted his hand in the air. He pretended not to have seen the flames ignite Morgana's face; she'd always hated how loyal he was to his father.

"Gaius," Uther churned the name out fiercely. "has been secretly converging into my business with the purpose to report back to the druids in Albion."

The raven-haired beauty scoffed, eyes darkening demonically.

"You're wrong Uther. You're always wrong! So quick to turn your back on your friends. You, Uther Pendragon. (Arthur held a hand to the bridge of his nose, wishing he could become invisible. This wasn't helping Gaius.) You are full of hate." Uther locked his eyes on the woman. Any sane person would have taken this as a hint to stop talking.

"Full of evil. You are nothing but a mutated  _replica_ of humanity-"

Standing up suddenly, Uther strode towards her.

"ENOUGH." His voice boomed, and for a moment even the voices in the corridor stilled. Morgana bared her teeth resentfully, eyes smouldering.

"YOU ARE MY GODDAUGHTER." Turning away from her in outrage, he loomed over Arthur ferociously.

"And  _you_ are my son." The abrupt hushed tone didn't make his words any less startling. In fact, it made them even more foreboding.

Silenced, the pair of them watched as the figure retreated from their personal space and back towards his char. Lowering himself onto it, he spun around. Its long back faced them.

"Leave this room. Now."

Trudging away from the office, defeat plastered on his face, Arthur sighed. Gaius' fate had been sealed, and there was nothing he could do about it. Morgana didn't even look at him; she brushed past him wildly, taking the nearest possible turning, clearly to get away from him to avoid physically lashing out at him.

The next hour passed quickly and – to his relief – he was in solitude. He didn't take a break, ploughing through the stack of files on his desk. He feared getting out of sync with the efficient routine would draw his mind back to the events of the morning. Sitting in his own office, very much an imitation of his father's, Arthur gazed out through his window. It wasn't an inspiring sight; the immediate horizon was full of grey buildings. Workers walked briskly through the dampened streets, some stopped to exchange hellos and others were alone – but nonetheless content.

Camelot Enterprise offered a wide range of jobs. From marketing, sales, production, advertising, engineering…the list trundled on. It was sales and figures that were Arthur's forte, but often he would be found dabbling in other departments. Adjusting some recent projections of their next quarterly figures, and scrutinising his father's new proposals had kept him occupied.

Yet no matter how much he tried to keep his mind busy, lock his thoughts on corporate matters, a deep nausea spread inside his body. One name echoed constantly in the air. _Gaius._

**♦☼♦**

Merlin always knew he was lucky to live in Ealdor. It was after all one of the largest druid clans in the whole of Albion, centred at the heart of the magnificent land, and home to the Crystal Cave. The large expanse of tunnels and sparkling crystals were said to be older than time herself, more sacred than the holy water of Avalon. The forest here was nothing but bold and beautiful, trees staggering high enough to hear the voices of those who had passed. They stood proud, tall and archaic, full of stories that only the rare few would have the privilege to hear. The lush layers of woodland were bursting with vibrant tropical plants, and berries that oozed sweet deliciousness. Not to mention the lake, Merlin called it  _beorhtne_. The pure, blue water shimmered in the clearing of the forest, a large mount of rocks scattered around by the hands of nature, which were perfect spots to sit and relax.

The mornings were peaceful and sprinkled with the humming of the forest, the singing of the birds, the cries of animals unfortunate enough to have been chosen for death, and his favourite sound: the morning chants of his people. It was always the same chant, a morning grace perhaps the  _other_ world would have described it as. He was a druid with a free life, sheltered from the world of Pendragon's– he had heard the rumours of what happened out there. His best friend Will had seen it all for himself, hiding as a druid with the druidians for two years out in the world where towering metallic forests flocked with people, and strange contraptions like a 'key' that would let you into your  _own home_ existed _._ Merlin thought it was ridiculous, even more so the fact that they were incapable of living alongside nature. He never understood how Will had done it, or Gwenevere for that matter. His lips curved upwards at the name.

She was one of purest, most honest people he'd ever had the pleasure to meet, and to have discovered that she had sacrificed everything, even her  _freedom_  to help Will – a man she'd just met according to the retelling of the story - escape from the clutches of the Pendragon DC Team was a constant reminder of her courage. She was a rare exception to the rule: the rule that people from  _that world_ are to remain there and never enter Albion. Not that they could, because Albion was made invisible to their eyes, undetectable on satellites, protected by ancient magic. Apparently it was a bit like Hogwarts, Gwen had said when they first met, though Merlin wasn't sure why William found it funny, or what on earth a Hog-wart was.

Sitting down on the mossy tree root, he frowned a little. The sun was rising over the tips of the forest ahead, bursts of amber light streaking through and dancing with the air around. Merlin felt the warmth on his skin, but did not share in its rejoicing. The sun had set yesterday, and something was very,  _very_ wrong. It was one of those moments where he  _just knew_ something had happened. Like that very day Gwen and William had been on the run thousands of miles away in a completely different world, he sensed it in his gut. Only this time, it was worse. The twinge had kept him up most of night, tossing and turning restlessly. His heart had risen in pace, skin waxen. Clasping his hands together he sighed deeply, allowing himself this one moment to express his concern, knowing nobody else would be around to speculate it…or so he thought.

" _Afara*,"_ lifting his head at the gentle voice, his eyes met the face that was swathed in affection. Soft brown curls draped over her shoulders, seeping out from the messy bun. Sitting beside him, she reached for his hands and smiled lightly.

"You may have everybody else fooled, but don't think your  _own mother_  can't see that troubled glint in your eyes." Merlin spared a small smile at her teasing tone, it really was amazing how well she could read him, before morphing his face back into a stern expression.

Swallowing-hand, he ran a thumb over his mother's hands.

"Gaius." He choked, eyes favouring the rocky ground beneath the tree. "He didn't come back last night."

Caressing his hands soothingly, Hunith leant towards the raven-haired man. She knew Merlin's love for Gaius was almost on parallel to that for his own father and herself. Gaius had been a role model to him, a man he could look up, the one who would tell him stories at night when Balinor could not. Her face was etched in calmness, in an attempt to pacify the young man; she could feel his pulse quickening through his wrists.

"I'm sure that he is safe Merlin-"

Turning to face her sharply, Merlin allowed the panic that had towered over him all night, whispered things into his ears, to enter his body and consume his entirety. Eyes wide, he breathed quickly at the revelation of his next words.

"He comes back  _every night_ since he left Ealdor, even before I was  _born_ I know he did."

It was a truth that could not be denied even by his mother. Without fail, Gaius would return from that world and back to Albion at night. Whether it was for a few hours or even a few  _minutes,_ he would make his own welfare and safety known to the clan. Merlin wondered if anybody else had noticed he didn't return. Pursing her lips together, Hunith reached for her son's face, flicking a strand of black hair off his forehead.

"I'm sure he's safe Merlin." She assured once more.

But it wasn't assuring at all. It was terrifying. Something was  _wrong-_ he knew it. He could feel it inside his magic, inside his  _soul._ Yet nobody, not even his father, had seemed to understand that Gaius not coming back was a  _big deal;_ even possibly an indicator that he was in trouble. Images of what the truth may be flashed through his mind, and it was enough to make him stand up suddenly and pace back and forth agitatedly.

"No." he murmured, biting one of his fingernails as it rested against his mouth.

He  _always_ came back,  _always._

"No." Merlin repeated more forcefully, spinning around to pace the other way. "Something's wrong. I can feel it. I just know-"

Hunith stood up, grabbing his shoulder.

" _Merlin-"_ her voice was stern, eyes narrowed in a rather protective manner.

Despite knowing the worry that was going to consume her, the  _clan_ for that matter, he knew he had to fight her on this. There was no way he was going to stand by and let Gaius suffer. He felt a wave of nausea burst through him. What if they were torturing him? What if- Releasing himself from his mother's grasp, he took a few steps back from her.

"You know I'm right. I'm going to find him."

Flinging herself forwards, eyes wide, Hunith shook her head. Merlin took an extra step back, hand raised, palm outstretched.

"It's too dangerous Merlin  _please!_  You can't do this." Small tears threatened to escape her eyes.

" _Watch me."_ Smiling sadly, Merlin inhaled a deep breath.

With that, his eyes became rimed in a rich Gold, shining belligerently. A bright light enveloped around him, trees shaking blithely against the force of wind blowing around.

"MERLIN NO!"

But it was too late. The moment Hunith's words sounded, they were echoing around an empty clearing. Merlin was now in a dangerous world, where death for a druid was the _easy_ option. Even worse, he was in the  _heart_ of all of this evil:

Camelot Enterprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: 
> 
> Afara - Son
> 
> *Ivor Klandis- A fictional character who translated the Emrys into English for academic study/research


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t _believe_ you just stood there like a coward _watching_ them drag him away-”

He didn’t even have to look in her direction to know her eyes were burnishing with that usual resolute fire. To be honest, he was surprised she had taken _this long_ to make her appearance. Maybe she had spent the past hour planning some kind of ridiculous _speech_ to deliver to him. It _definitely_ seemed that way. Pressing a hand to his throbbing forehead, Arthur groaned.

“For the _last time_ Morgana there was _nothing_ I could do-”

Leaning across the desk, she slammed a hand down onto the wood.

“-There was _everything_ you could do Arthur! Gaius has been in this company since before we were born! You could have saved him from the lab-“

Arthur scoffed, standing up and meeting her eyes. She was…blaming… _him_ for this? He spiralled into a petulant response.

“-Once the allegation has been made you know there’s no changing his mind. _You know_ the system-”

“-Perhaps no-one else could, but _you_ could talk some sense into him.” There it was, that strange belief Morgana had that Arthur could just _magically_ changethings. Her voice softened as she retreated from the desk. “Tell him that he doesn’t have to do this. It doesn’t have to be this way anymore-”

“-I’ve tried. I’ve tried countless times, he _won’t_ listen to me.”

“Try harder.” Morgana snapped, folding her arms across her chest.

The subliminal message embedded within those words struck Arthur instantaneously. Shaking his head, he bit his lip cautiously.

“I can’t defy my father in such a way. You know that.” averting his gaze to study the carpet, he frowned.

Sharp daggers shot from her eyes, penetrating his skin.

“I can’t believe you’re just going to let this happen.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur smiled in incredulity. She really wasn’t getting the picture.

“I have to! I have no choice.” Pause. “Even if I did have a choice, do you _really_ think that going against my father would be the best idea?! I’m to inherit this company Morgana, and Camelot Enterprise more than _just_ a business. It controls almost everything – you know this. It even owns part of the _military_ for god’s sake. Energy is _everything.”_ Narrowing his eyes, Arthur clenched a fist. “You have _no idea_ how much rests upon my shoulders.”

“No Arthur Pendragon. I don’t know.” She agreed solemnly. “I don’t know how it feels to be the Prince of the earth. But I do know one thing; you’re _just_ like your father.”

With that, Morgana left the room.

Furiously, Arthur tossed her words out of the door too. But they crept back in stubbornly, whispering in his ear, fiddling with his tie, crawling over his skin. Brushing them off, he sat down at his desk. A puff of air left his lips loudly as he reached for the blue fountain pen. Tapping it insistently against the table, Arthur hoped the noise would override the words circling around his head. After two minutes whole minutes of this, sitting with eyes wide and blankly staring, he dropped the pen onto the table. It was no good. The words didn’t leave. Swivelling his chair out towards the window, his eyes caught Morgana. She was walking determinedly down the street, lips pursed, eyes fierce. Turning away from the window, Arthur scoffed.

“Prince of the earth.” He mocked her words to himself in an attempt to shoo them away, what a _silly_ thing to say.

The words didn’t leave. No matter how hard he tried.

Even when he left his office, they trailed behind him tauntingly.

**♦☼♦**

Panting heavily, Merlin pressed himself against the wall behind him, eyes clamped shut and head still spinning slightly. He had caught a snippet of his mother’s cries as he left; they had woven around him in the vortex of blinding colours and warping patterns. Part of him prayed his magic hadn’t been foolish enough to teleport him to a clearing full of people who witnessed his arrival. That ridiculous self-sacrificial part of him prayed for the opposite, as that would possibly lead him straight to Gaius…or it could not and would take him to his own doom. To die here, that was a fate not deserved for anyone, even for the people that _lived_ here. Slowly, he opened his eyes, not sure what exactly he was expecting to see. As the world seeped back into focus, and colours and shapes reformed, his mouth dropped open in awe. It was…beautiful. Strangely beautiful. Not in a way that he could describe or matching in the natural beauty of his own world.

The room was relatively empty, _thank god_. Those that occupied the side closer to Merlin were in extremely uncomfortable clothing, eyes glued to some sort of personal screen which conjured up a thing you could write your words onto. Fascinated, he leant forward from where he was hiding behind the large pillar, inspecting the room closer. There appeared to be glass windows framing the room, and the walls around were painted white. Further down the room, were a small group of people standing together. Gazing up, he stared at the ceiling above. Intricate patterns were engraved into the white stone. Despite how high up it was, everything seemed to radiate grandeur, his magic was able to decipher a dragon and a lion. Hearing voices emerge from behind him, Merlin quickly sauntered past the collection of screen-people, and desperately gazed around for some kind of _door._

 _Gaius!_ He hissed in his head, his own voice dominating. _Where are you?_

No response. It was then Merlin knew things _had_ to be worse than he had first imagined. If only he could find a _door._ Gazing around, he noticed there were a handful of interesting silver boxes attached to the walls, but there appeared to be no sign of a door. Confusion made itself apparent on his face, and he hoped the passer-by to his right didn’t put two and two together and sound the druid-alarm. To say he felt a little out of place in his simple cotton shirt and brown trousers would be an understatement. A sound from behind him, the silver box was _opening,_ jerked Merlin’s attention to the sight. Watching the metallic doors open in front of him, Merlin began to understand the structure of this building.

He remembered Will telling him humans sometimes over-complicated their methods of transport. This must be that portal he had mentioned once. Walking quickly towards it, he smiled in relief. This portal would take him down to wherever Gaius was. He stepped reluctantly into the enclosed box and realised at this moment that he was not alone. His eyes drifted subtly over to the tall handsome blonde stood on the other side. His stare became less and less subtle, but he didn’t think it mattered – the other man seemed to be lost in thought anyway. Eyes widening, Merlin deduced this was one _stunning_ specimen of a human being. The face was sculpted symmetrically _,_ bright striking blue eyes, naturally pouting lips. His sleek blonde hair gleamed; the mirrors on each side of the box reflected his profile and the defined, but smooth, nose. Eventually blinking, Merlin quickly chucked his vision elsewhere, realising the blonde had noticed his presence.

Arthur Pendragon groaned melodramatically as his eyes flickered up and down the dark-haired man’s lanky body. At first a flutter of laughter escaped his chest, sounding almost forced. Surely, this had to be some kind of sick joke. Rolling his eyes, he huffed in frustration. Morgana. Now she had taken it _too far_. The first thing that caught his attention was that ridiculous mound of black hair on his head, styled chaotically. Then, he spotted those ears clumsily sticking out of the head- a little out of proportion. Lowering his gaze, he scoffed a little at the sight. The upper part of the man’s body was clothed in a red _neckerchief_ –who wore neckerchiefs?! -a dirty bronze-coloured jacket,and a blue cheap cotton shirt underneath. The bottom half a little less ridiculous: muddy brown trousers and boots. He spared a look of distress for the man, but it faded instantaneously. Christ- he really _did_ look like one of them.

“ _Oh lord…”_

Self-consciously gazing down at his clothing, Merlin frowned. His fingers traced the hem of his cotton shirt nervously. Looking back up at the blonde man curiously, he watched him wear a similar expression.

"Look. I’ve had enough shit from Morgana today.” Chewing his lip impatiently, Arthur waited for Morgana’s revenge to say something, _do_ something. The man beside him stood motionless, eyes a little wide, head titled as if he were a bit confused. Raising a hand, Arthur gestured for the man to speak, so far he had remained silent. The man made no attempt to respond. In _fact,_ he was insolent enough to _turn his head away_ and start admiring the bloody elevator instead.

“Go on then. Call me a…two-faced, evil basted already or whatever.”

Unfamiliar with this amount of foul language, Merlin blinked in surprise at the tone of voice. The fact that he was hurling such foul words at him didn’t make the situation any better either.

“ _Excuse me_?” Merlin asked, a twinge of annoyance beginning to emerge.

It was then Arthur’s eyes studied the one thing they’d skimmed over, the face. His cheekbones were a prominent feature, deep enough to create their own shadows against the lower part of his cheeks. It was strangely captivating. The lips were a surprise also, plump  – a little feminine – and…eyes flickering upwards, he met the eyes. How had he _missed those?_ He’d never looked upon more mysterious eyes. Deep enough to swim in, subtle shades of blue cascading through the iris gracefully, and ripples of something Arthur couldn’t put his finger on. It was then Arthur established he had taken too long to reply. Hastily he gesticulated towards the terrible clothing.

“You know you _really_ ought to change out of…” the open doors of the strange box became obscured by a new figure, but it was a change in the background neither noticed. Laughing, Arthur failed to find the right words, hands on hips lips pursed.

“I get it. It’s supposed to be _funny._ But people will _actually_ think you’re a druid.” 

As the elevator doors closed, another voice spoke out before Merlin could object.

“The jerk’s right you know. _For once._ ” The intruder supplied, thick strands of brown hair draping on each side of his face that was lined with light stubble. He quickly examined Merlin’s appearance and wrinkled his nose almost sympathetically.

“They’ll take you down to the lab, (Merlin’s eyes lit up – the _lab_. Exactly where he wanted to go.) And then the joke will be on you mate.”

Leaning casually against the door, the brown-haired male studied Merlin silently.

“I assure you.” Merlin began sternly. “I’m not here to _joke around.”_

Glancing over at the elusive man in druid attire, Arthur smiled. _Perfect._ Wrapping an arm around him in response, he peered past him to smirk at Gwaine. The raven-haired man gazed anxiously from the firm hand on his shoulder, to the suddenly uplifted blonde man, whose dazzling teeth were now on display.

“Ah, that’s what Camelot Enterprise _likes,_ an employee,” _an imbecilic one at that,_ Arthur thought smugly. “with the right _mind-set_.”

Patting Merlin on the shoulder patronisingly, Arthur shot Gwaine a look of triumph, clearly making some sort of personal jibe at the other man who raised his eyebrows. The man in the middle, still in Arthur’s grasp, looked as if his ears of doom were about to literally burst steam. Arthur realised that his tongue _might_ have spat out the imbecile part anyway. Quick to get himself out of the blonde’s hands and refusing to be an object of humiliation, Merlin plastered on his innocent look.

“I’m just here to see my friend.” He said simply.

Which little did _they_ know meant he was breaking into the lab and attempting an impossible rescue mission. Taking a step forward, Merlin noticed the strange dials on the walls with numbers imprinted on them.

“ _Friend._ Hear that Gwaine, Camelot Enterprise does offer an environment in which friendships can be made for all kinds of um…” glancing back over the man who was crouched down beside the numbers, Arthur’s words faded away. Gwaine’s eyes followed in the same direction, an amused look on his face.

“So,” Arthur cleared his throat taking a step forward. The man dressed in druid-attire leapt up to his feet, eyes wide with avid interest. “What level erm…”

“If I press a number, it will take me to that floor!” he exclaimed, turning back to the panel on the wall.

Unable to resist pissing off Arthur, Gwaine grinned.

“Yes, it’s _magic-“_

Arthur spun around to face his friend, luckily unable to see Merlin’s countenance (he was smiling). Jabbing a finger into Gwaine’s scruffy suit, the blonde’s eyes narrowed. Merlin took this opportunity to properly establish where on earth he was going. Shutting his eyes, he cleared his mind.

_Gaius. Where are you?_

No reply. Fingers fumbling over the numbers, Merlin stopped and hovered over 3. His palm tingled a little. But then he pressed on; a laboratory would not be on an accessible floor like that surely? It either had to be at the top…

“-Here of all places _you_ chose to joke about magic. If anyone _else_ heard you-“

The top seemed unlikely. Why would Uther Pendragon keep the druids at the top of the building? Not only did it symbolise that the druids had secret control and power, but it would be difficult to contain everything. Eyes searching the dials, Merlin frowned. Gaius still hadn’t replied. Concerned, he tired again, clearing his mind.

_Gaius!_

Gwaine loved teasing Arthur. He was so uptight _all_ the time, following his father’s orders as if nothing else on the planet mattered more. Shrugging at Arthur, Gwaine’s squinted eyes lit up in mischief.

“ _Times change, people change-”_  

Merlin’s ears quirked upwards a little in response to one of the druid’s famous sayings…or the laboratory would be at the _very_ bottom.

“Not in Camelot they don’t.” Arthur snapped, eyes drifting back to the other man.

Pressing the lowest button, Merlin took a step back, immediately feeling an emotional overload rock his system. He could _hear_ racing heartbeats, taste fear. Trying to brush the intense waft of captured druids to the back of his mind, Merlin noticed the other’s eyes had landed on the lit-up dial. In shock, Arthur’s eyes bounced between the dark-haired man and the button. This kid sure had guts.

“ _Shit!_ Morgana must have put you up to this!” He belted out suddenly. “You’re walking into the labdressed like _that_?” The blonde’s words confirmed two things for Merlin: 1) he had picked the correct floor 2) this guy was becoming increasingly insufferable.

It took a few moments to realise the prat was still talking.

“Holy _fuck_ (Merlin’s eyes tripled in size at the word.) How much did she pay you? She should’ve learnt by now from her last fucking political demonstration- ”

Unable to play the nice guy any longer, Merlin glowered at the blonde and unleashed the annoyance that had been slowly boiling the past few minutes.

“-Listen you…self-centred prat!” Gwaine removed his weight from off the wall, now gazing upon the man with interest. “I’d rather like it if you shut your mouth and stopped talking.”

Gaping at the notion that somebody, who wasn’t Morgana, had spoken to him in such a manner- told him to _shut-up -_ Arthur scowled.

“You can’t _address me_ like that. Do you know who I am?” a laugh of disbelief left his lips, eyes focusing on the other man.

Unsure why, words erupted from Merlin’s mouth, spewing into the air before he could scoop them back up and properly register what was coming out.

“No and I don’t care. But within the last minute, I’ve learnt enough about you to know that you’re vain- even as I’m talking you’re secretly casting evocative glances at yourself in your reflection. (Arthur averted is eyes from the mirror rapidly, Gwaine slapped a hand over his mouth to conceal his delight.) You’re pompous, you stand tall to intimidate those around you, make others feel small. You’re overbearing, _very overbearing_ ; you think you’re the greatest thing known to man, and the _foul language_ that comes out of your mouth…” The look that occupied the dark haired man’s face was one of complete horror.

“I’m sure my father will be _enthralled_ to hear all about how you verbally abused me.” Arthur said tauntingly, pulling out his phone swiftly.

Merlin raised his eyebrows and let slip a huff of disagreement.

“Verbal abuse-?” that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Oh _come on_ you glorified prat, even _he_ (he hand gestured to the giggling Gwaine) knows more than half of what I just said is true-”

“-Hey don’t bring me into this.” Gwaine protested, voice light and bubbly. “this isn’t my kind of scene. I’m no troublemaker.” The rugged smirk tugged over the man’s lips and blatant amusement deeply suggested otherwise. But Arthur and Merlin weren’t listening to him.

“-yes verbal abuse-“

“-Who do you think you are-“

“-I’m Arthur _fucking_ Pendragon. The son of Uther Pendragon, and future successor to Camelot Enterprise.” Arthur proudly stated. Watching the druid-dressed man’s lip form an ‘o’ shape, he grinned – worked _every time._

If he were a normal druid, who didn’t do stupid things like breaking into Camelot or constantly defying his father- _leader_ of the clan- Merlin would have been scared. No. He would have been terrified. In fact, he may have teleported himself out of the elevator without hesitation. But he wasn’t normal. For reasons he couldn’t understand, he wasn’t scared. He was _angry._ He was standing face to face with a _Pendragon._ All the rage and turmoil he felt for the thousands who had been taken by the Pendragon’s suddenly seared through his body like a wild fire.

“Wow…” he stammered in awe, or what Arthur interpreted as awe. “that’s…sorry.” His lips quirked upwards. “It’s just – is that supposed to change _anything?”_

Merlin had absolutely _no idea_ where this surplus amount of confidence had sprouted from. He wasn’t a troublemaker. He made note to bottle up this ridiculous bravado the moment the blonde man strode towards him ominously.

“I could take you apart with one blow.”

He tried; he _really,_ really did try. Unfortunately, the bottle just wouldn’t screw up. Somehow, this all was actually… _hilarious._

“Oh I could take you apart with less than that.” Merlin sneered. Little did Arthur know that this was very much true. 

Balling his fists, taking a step back from this infuriating man, Arthur glared challengingly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“John Smith.”

The man who had been watching the pair with amusement finally released the swell behind his tightened lips. The howls of laughter echoed through the elevator.

“Oh Arthur! I _like_ this one!” he grinned at ‘John Smith’ in approval, patting him hard on the back.

Merlin wasn’t sure why what he said was so funny. Will had told him John Smith was one of the best unsuspecting names to disguise your druid identity, alongside Harry Potter, Chuck Norris and David Tennant. Resisting the urge to collide his fist with that pretty, and somehow haunting face, Arthur gritted his teeth. This was an _outrage._ Morgana was never going to hear the end of this, he was going to make _certain_ of it. Opening his messages, he quickly typed out a text and sent it to her mobile:

> _How many times do I have to apologise for something out of my control? This demonstration has just surpassed stupidity now._

A pang of relief flushed through him when the silver doors opened _finally_ at his level.

"Well,” putting the phone into his pocket, he combed a hand through his hair. “it was _pleasure_ meeting you John Smith.” His voice oozed sarcasm, suggesting the complete opposite.

“I can’t say the same for you, _dollophead._ ”

Pausing as he exited the elevator, Arthur narrowed his eyes in bewilderment. Had he just called him a… _dollophead?_ The doors closed as Arthur turned back around to cast one final insult at this ‘John Smith’ a second too late. Inside, Gwaine, still laughing, nudged Merlin.

“Okay, so who do I _really_ have to thank for completely walking all over Pendragon?”

Smiling back at the man he had heard Arthur Pratdragon call Gwaine, Merlin held out his hand warmly. Although he knew to be wary of these people- they were renown for betrayal and deceit after all- Merlin sensed something good about Gwaine. For one, he seemed to also have the audacity to insult the young Pendragon. Jokingly or not, it was still admirable, and those _smirking_ eyes told him this man was probably rebellious – not the kind to turn in a person who looked like a druid for instance. Knowing he should probably use another fake name, Merlin found the truth slipping out effortlessly as Gwaine shot him an effortless smile.

“Merlin. My name’s Merlin.”

 _Idiot!_ Not reaching for Merlin’s hand, Gwaine’s expression mutated into one of caution.

“Merlin…isn’t that a druid’s name?”

Eyes wide in fear, Merlin felt his heart accelerate in his chest. He had been found out! There was no escaping now, and he was going down to the lab _anyway_.

“ _No!_ I mean…yes. B-but I.” he stuttered clumsily.

A warm hand pressed against his shoulder, silencing him.

“Merlin,” Gwaine’s eyes crinkled humorously. “Can’t you tell when someone’s messing with you?”

Exhaling the air that he had swallowed and held onto, Merlin gasped. Tensely, he too chuckled a little. Another ping, and Gwaine made his way closer to the door.

“We should do this again sometime.”

By “this”, Merlin assumed Gwaine meant tormenting Arthur Pendragon to the brink, which was something surprisingly the druid had found more entertaining than he’d expected.Stepping out of the elevator, the mischievous male winked.

“Good luck down there.” He gestured towards Merlin’s clothes, and offered a pensive smile. “You’ll need it Merlin.”

**♦☼♦**

The next few minutes had been the most intense of his life, Merlin was positive of this. His heart was pounding rapidly against his ribcage, threatening to burst out of his skin and convulse on the floor. His breathing was shallow, eyes wide. It had only dawned on him now fully what he was going to try and do. To _break into_ a lab, normally it was people trying to _break out,_ and to find Gaius, it was suicide. Merlin was unsure what atrocities he would see down there. All he knew was that it was a terrible place. Sometimes, according to the lucky ones that had escaped but were too full of fear to properly talk about it, the doctors performed experiments, _tests_ to try and understand what magic was. The fear Merlin felt faded away instantly, replaced with avid rage. That was the problem with the human race, their insatiable hunger for knowledge, for ultimate understanding; to become supreme rulers.

He knew the enclosed box was getting close now. Small pockets of other people’s emotions were sifting through his magic’s subconscious. First he felt a scream tear through his chest, vibrating his whole body. Then had come the waves and waves of pleas, the shrieks for help and devastating torment plagued is body. His eyes watered at the overwhelming experience passing through him. Magic and emotions were said to be intimately combined, but usually it only boiled down to a druid being able to decipher if somebody was on edge. However, in traumatic times, or near a place of great suffering and unanimous turbulence, it was rumoured that the magic inside would latch onto it, welcome in the pain of its people and weep for them. This was a very rare occurrence, recorded in the _æmryš_ a mere handful of times as ‘magical-weeping’ - which had to mean that whatever was down there was beyond horrific.

This was the first time this magical-weeping* had happened to Merlin- and he prayed it would be the last.

Merlin wiped his wet eyes, wishing for the stabbing pain to pass quickly. He would be no use to Gaius writhing in his own skin.  A moment later, the peculiar aura enclosed around him faded, leaving nothing but a haunting numbness in his fingertips. Swallowing-hard, he heard the woman’s mechanical voice state the floor level. The silver doors slid open slowly, revealing a long corridor with a white-tiled floor. Rooms were scattered to each side, alongside the occasional cry or scream.

Bravely, Merlin stepped out of the elevator, walking down the corridor. Metallic blinds placed over the glass hid the sources of the screaming that sounded every now and then. But that didn’t stop his magic peering through one of the windows. His heart almost stopped at the sight, and it took all of his strength to not regurgitate his insides in a mix of shock and repulsion right there and then. Panic flashed through his body, hands shaking. This was worse than he could ever imagine. And the eerie quietness of the hallways was terrifying. Holding a hand to his mouth, he leant against the wall to try and contain his own shriek of horror, wanting to erase the image from his mind.

_Gaius…Gaius where are you?_

Peeling himself from the wall, he continued forwards, swallowing down the painful lump of agony building up in his throat. No reply. A throbbing sensation pulsated through his head. Gaius was the one that had first taught Merlin how to do this, how to reach into the mind-network and communicate voicelessly. If he wasn’t replying, chances were it was because he _couldn’t_ or because he was already d-…no. No, Merlin let a hysterical chuckle slip out of his lips. He wasn’t here to play stupid mind games with himself. If Gaius _was…_ well…but if he wasn’t, standing around in this stupid corridor, playing ‘what if’ was not going to help at all. Plucking the final ounce of courage from the bottom of his stomach Merlin pushed on, surprised he hadn’t run into any of the workers yet.

Speak of the devil. Two people in white lab coats were now striding around the corner ahead towards him, he could hear their voices approaching, clipboards in hands. Frozen in shock, Merlin’s eyes automatically flashed gold. The two lab workers continued walking towards him, he swore one of them was looking _directly at him,_ but the invisibility spell seemed to have worked instantly to his relief.

“Poor Gaius.” One of them said, a sigh torn from their mouths.

Merlin followed them, peering over the shoulder to read whatever had been scribbled on the clipboard. He had to bite his tongue not to cry out or unleash some kind of spell that would knock them to the ground and blow his cover. The other man looked at his peer, and adjusted his glasses with an adamant determination. 

“He’s a druid. If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, you know what the consequences are Nia.”

Nia, the younger man with flame-red hair averted his gaze to the ground and refused to reply. This conversation, shocking as it was for Merlin to _hear_ the discrimination against his kind, had given him enough time to read over the first page on Nia’s clipboard. Without hesitation, he ran to the direction they had come from. Skidding round the corner, he came face to face with a door. It was just an ordinary door. A simple wooden door painted red, _blood red._ On the front a number was printed on it, a number. Merlin felt his eyes water. They didn’t even name them; they branded them like _animals,_ like criminals. But what was their crime? They had never waged war against this place, despite having the power to.

And that was the frightening thing; Merlin bet some of these druids _were_ powerful enough to break free. If they mustered enough energy, they would be able to escape, go back home to Albion. But they were lacking in something fundamental, something this whole _building_ had drained and drained and constantly drained; faith.

Reaching out to the door, Merlin opened it with his magic, not wanting to leave anything incriminating on its handle. Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing a man on a table. Not a bed, a _table._ They didn’t even offer druids the slightest comfort in this hellhole. Gaius looked remarkably unlike Gaius. First of all, Merlin noticed he had no hair, it had been shaved off, revealing his scalp. He was dressed in a simple blue gown down to his knees. His arms and ankles were locked onto the table via some kind of metallic contraption. Plastic tubes were filtering through his nostrils and another on his arm. A machine to the right was beeping slowly; Merlin guessed it was measuring his pulse or something to that degree. And then there was this _thing._ This terrible thing injected into his side, clearly trying to harness _magic_ or take it from him.

Panicking, Merlin rushed to Gaius’ side, shaking him promptly. The man opened his eyes rapidly, and Merlin felt the burning inferno inside devour all of him when he noticed the first emotion to flash through those old, wise eyes was _fear._ What had they done to him? It took him a moment to focus his gaze, and when he had, his eyes widened. Trying to sit up, but unable to due to the constraints, Gaius shook his head.

“Merlin. What an earth are you doing here?” his voice was calm and steady as usual, and enough to bring a swell of relief to Merlin.

Gaius wasn’t broken, _yet._ He was still Gaius- hell he was _still_ alive. The feeling of discovering this was tremendous. He laughed bitterly.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Merlin clasped his hands together as if making a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever had been so kind to spare Gaius. It had only been a day in the lab for him, but Merlin had felt the druids’ magnitude of suffering. This was a place forged by the devil himself, smouldering in fires of hatred and cruelty.

“Merlin, get out of here.” Gaius said, voice stern. “ _Now.”_

But Merlin wasn’t listening, overcome with the satisfaction of _finding_ Gaius. Now all he had to do was get him out of this blasted room. Gazing around, he finally took in the surroundings. The walls where white, the room was empty and sparse, the lighting was intense and it seemed to be a vacuum of nothingness. He was pretty sure a week in here would be enough to drive _anyone_ crazy. Bringing his eyes back to Gaius’ bald head, he shook his head slowly.

“It’s not safe Merlin, they’ll be back _any minute-“_

“-what have they done to you?” Merlin interrupted, eyes watering as he registered the bruising over one eye and several other parts of his body. “Do they do this…to _all_ _the druids_ who leave Albion?”

He didn’t need that question to be answered. He’d seen that poor woman in that room…he’d seen _everything_ in a matter of seconds. Yet he knew, somehow, there was _more-_ maybe there was _worse._ Gaius remained silent, not wanting to shatter Merlin’s delusions of this world. He had always tried to bring up both parties- the Pendragon’s and Merlin- to believe that each were not so different, that there were positive things in each world. However, he knew now Merlin would never be able to see _anything_ positive about this place again. In despair, Merlin bit his lip, trying to force the pain away.

“Every night.” He managed to get out in a small hushed voice. Clearing his throat, he shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Gaius was safe, that’s all that mattered. “Every night.” Shaking his head, he put both hands over his mouth; in an attempt to conceal the choked sob escaping his lips. Merlin liked to think he was a resolute person. Yet now, here he was in Camelot Enterprise, the shock of the whole situation finally washing over him and making it past his pumping adrenaline. Then abruptly, before it had even _begun,_ it stopped. Merlin opened his eyes fiercely.

Gaius was the one in pain here, and to act like this in _front_ of him was unfair. Putting the grief into the depths of his mind, Merlin sighed and restarted the sentence.

“Every night you came to me, you told me about this place, this _world.”_ He gazed around the room dismally. “It’s a lot different to how I imagined it would be.”

Smiling softly, Gaius stared at the man’s pale face.

“Times change Merlin, people change.”

Times change, people change. That wasn’t the first time he’d heard that old Druid proverb today. Oh how it was ironic, how it was funny and _brilliant_ and terrifying. How was it that these four words were so powerful, that they could evoke happiness, _sadness,_ laughter, pain, guilt…a whole emotional spectrum could be chosen, just from these four famous words. How it encompassed humanity, how it showed flaws, how it highlighted strength…Glowering, Merlin reached for the bounds around Gaius’ wrists.

“You’ve lived outside of Albion your _whole life._ Our own kind…” Merlin frowned. Many druids would be reluctant to say people from this land were kin, but it was the ugly truth. “…they treat you like this.”

Determinedly, he tugged on the metal with his hands.

“I’m getting you out of this-“

Flashing gold, Merlin focused his magic on the metal frantically.

“-They’ve magic-proofed it. It’s no use.” Gaius said sadly, looking down at the boy close enough to call his own son, the boy he loved more than life, the boy he’d taught. That boy was a young man now, and he was struggling uselessly against these bounds with that willpower he’d never grown out of it. Gaius had always told him it was his best quality, even if it had gotten him into trouble.

“Then I’ll use my hands.” Merlin spat as if it was going to be simple.

It’s moments like this; when you know that you’re going to fail, you know that you can’t save him right here and now that echo through your nightmares, follow you everywhere you go. No matter how hard you tug, how much _magic_ you shove into the binds, it does not move. It does not seem to even falter. Murmuring words, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold dramatically. Nothing happened. He panicked. _Nothing happened._ He was powerless. Merlin was powerless. _Emrys_ was powerless.

“I knew one of youwould come to find him.” An alien voice caused Merlin to stop his efforts, and gaze over at Gaius who seemed a little scared, not for himself, never for himself – for Merlin. Turning around slowly, Merlin was a little surprised at the sight before him. She wasn’t dressed in a white lab coat. The woman with long blonde hair, violent features and heavy eyelids was wearing a short red dress, a black jacket over her shoulders. Her eyes were big and full of scorn. She took a step forwards, closing the door behind her.

Merlin wondered why she hadn’t sounded the druid-alarm.

“Why is someone here to rescue you Gaius?” she said, tilting her head sceptically. “Are you really _special?”_ Merlin gritted his teeth to control himself from barking out an equally violent response. _“_ None of you showed _me_ the same devotion when I was taken to the laboratory!” her voice rose slightly.

Glancing from Gaius, who now looked a little furious, to the blonde woman, Merlin gaped. … _What?!_

“The… _you…_ it…you’re a _druid?”_ he managed to stammer through the confusion.

Laughing, the woman took a step towards Merlin, who raised his hand a little in defence.

“Not so bright are you?” without hesitation she pressed the red button beside the door, sounding a harsh, booming noise throughout the whole of the lab. Merlin clasped his ears for a moment, heart racing. She sounded the alarm! They would be here in _seconds._ Looking over in despair at Gaius, he tried one final shove at the chains.

“-Leave him alone Morgause he’s just a boy.” Gaius interjected quickly, lifting his head off the table to scowl down at her.

“The time has come,” the woman – Morgause – grinned. “They’re coming young warlock. I suggest you run back to your safe little haven _before it’s too late.”_

Pacing away from the table, _he had failed;_ Merlin’s eyes permeated uncertainty and upset. They were _coming,_ he could hear them ploughing down the stairs, trawling through the corridors with their weapons of destruction.

"Merlin, for _heaven’s_ sake. Go back to Albion now.” Gaius yelled, voice riming with authority.

Walking towards the corner of the room, he looked over at the man on the table.

“I’m not leaving without you!” he cried hopelessly, knowing that this was a reality that could not be.

The swell from inside seemed susceptible to climbing into his mouth and flooding through the entire room.

“I’ll be fine… _leave.”_ Gaius pleaded, voice barely sounding over the ones traipsing down the hall outside, on their way to this very room.

This was it. Taking a deep breath, Merlin raised his hand.

“We’ll rescue you Gaius, I _promise_.” He vowed ferociously through his ever-thickening throat, voice strained and cracking.

Eyes flashing gold, he felt his magic envelop his presence. Before he left, he saw the blonde woman’s look of smug satisfaction, Gaius’ _relief,_ and the door burst open with a team of people dressed in black clothing and armed with guns. The sound of shouting, the sound of _laughter_ from Morgause. Then it was all gone, and he could feel the cool Ealdor air on his face, hear the birds singing, feel the sun shining into his closed eyelids. Then there was a brutal punch to his arm that sent him sprawling backwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Magical Weeping - A concept formed by myself. As Merlin explains, it occurs in a time where there is a large amount of suffering or emotional turmoil within the druids. The basic idea is that the druids all have a magical connection. The magic inside can feel what everyone else is feeling, and it amplifies all of these emotions. The effects can be severe from physical pain, intense emotional turbulence, weeping and in times lack of control of your body (Merlin is described to "writhe" - because the magical weep is strong).


	3. Chapter 3

“What the _hell_ do you think you were doing Merlin!” a voice roared.

Opening his eyes slowly, Merlin landed in the arms of Will’s angry voice. A little disorientated, he felt himself being lured into the fierce, and unusually protective, vice-grip. Will had no doubt been one of many who feared for Merlin’s safety whilst he was gone. He was unsure how long he’d gone for. But by now, the sun had passed the top of the sky, threatening to settle beneath the horizon, gesturing he had been longer than anticipated. Releasing Merlin from the hug, the brown-haired man glared at his friend. Dirt smeared his cheeks, jacket even more tattered than Merlin’s.

“Do you know how _dangerous_ it is out there?” his expression morphed instantly into a grin. “You could have asked me to come with you, you selfish fucking idiot! I haven’t been out there in _years-_

Flashing a knowing sly smile to his friend, Merlin rolled his eyes. This was typical Will. Will who always wanted in on everything, Will who was possibly _more_ of a rebel than he was, Will who was full of the colloquial blasphemy from that terrible world. Before he can make a crude remark, the images of Gaius, of everything he’s just seen are thrust to the centre of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he stared pleadingly at his friend with teary eyes. Not even _Will_ had been near the labs in his lifetime on earth. Merlin felt isolation smother his body; trap him in a haze of sorrow. He could try and explain it, but it wouldn’t be _the same_. To believe it, you had to see it, you had to _feel it,_ feel that terrifying magical bond to that suffering; feel the _magic-weep._

“This is serious Will.” He said, eyes frosted over with renewed shock.

Leaning forwards suddenly, holding a hand behind Merlin in concern he was about to faint, Will searched the frightened eyes imploringly.

“Shit Merlin. What’s happened?”

Shaking his head, Merlin met his friend’s eyes darkly, lip quivering for a moment. Just _thinking_ about what he had seen was tearing him apart. It took an overdose of adrenaline to make himself speak, and even when found words his syllables were heavily elongated and unclear.

“It’s Gaius, they’ve-”

“- _Merlin!”_ without any warning, a new pair of arms engulfed him.

Quickly, the tanned woman removed her arms, huge brown eyes shimmering with distress. Her long black curls framed her beautiful face angelically, the golden headband over her forehand added to her innocent aura. Smiling softly at Gwen, Merlin felt his fear, his _panic,_ melt away for just a moment.

“Hunith and Balinor were _so worried_ about you! We all were. How could you leave us on edge like that? The _whole clan_ have been praying for your safe return. _Taliesin_ even looked for guidance from the crystals.”

Merlin blinked in a surprise at the lengths his people had gone. To put things into perspective, he had practically leapt into death’s arms in front of his own mother, leaving her with no indication of his whereabouts, or if he was coming back alive. Guilt smothered him instantly. His selfless nature had its benefits and its consequences. He watched his friend’s complexion resolve, her lips trembling, revealing the blatant consequences. 

“You were gone for _hours!”_ chewing her lip, she raised a hand to her forehead, releasing a tense sigh. Then abruptly her eyes widened in realisation of her actions and straightaway she grabbed his arm gently. “I’m sorry Merlin. I just-”

“-No you’re right Gwen.” He admitted, smoothing a hand delicately over hers. “It was stupid of me to just disappear like that.”

Frowning, Gwen nodded, pleased he agreed with her. Then, her expression softened into one of worry. Rubbing his hand, she leant towards him and gazed over at Will who shot her a look suggesting she probably shouldn’t pry. She did anyway, unable to control her compassion. It wasn’t just Merlin the people had been praying for, it was for Gaius also. Speculations had risen that he had been captured, taken to the place of nightmares.

“Did you find him?”

Merlin heard her saccharine voice, but his mind was too focused on Gaius, on what was happening now, on _Morgause._ Would they hurt Gaius? Would they hurt him _because he had been there?_ Would they torture him for answers? Maybe he shouldn’t have gone, maybe he should have let them- no. Gaius was weak already, bound. Maybe soon they’d _do it,_ do that horrific thing he had seen with his magic through the barricaded windows. Shuddering, he tightened his grip on Gwenevere, to prevent his legs from caving in.

“Something’s happened…” he managed to whisper, vacant eyes looking into hers eventually.

Gwen and Will exchanged stern glances, clearly worried for the wellbeing of their friend. Even the birds seemed troubled by Merlin’s shift in behaviour, for their songs had stopped, replaced by inquiring chirps, flying over their heads.

“Let’s take him to Balinor and Hunith.” Will declared, hooking one of Merlin’s arms over his shoulders. “Whatever he’s seen, it’s seriously freaked him out.”

Nodding obediently, Gwen hooked Merlin’s other arm over her shoulders. The pair trudged forwards, Merlin’s feet barely making any movement of their own. Maybe he should go back, rescue Gaius tonight when nobody would be there…Walking quickly through the mass of druids who must have sensed the shift in emotion, Gwen offered reassuring smiles to the druids. She had been a blessing to the Ealdor clan. Despite background, they had accepted her as one of their own, not hesitating to befriend her and let her courageous act be known to all. She was good for the clan. Gwenevere kept people calm, and her golden heart never failed to console or comfort those in dire need of faith. She was dependable, and the softness to her complexion often deceived many into believing she was faint-hearted. That was hardly the case.

Hunith and a bearded, sturdy man – Balinor – met them on the rocky platform.

“Merlin, you scared us.” Hunith cried, cupping her sons face in her hands desperately, pinching the skin to check it wasn’t a hallucination.

Releasing Merlin from their grasp, Gwenevere and Will glanced over to Balinor who had apprehension plastered over his face. Merlin wavered a little before regaining balance, and realised that somebody – his mother? – had been trying to make contact with him. Blinking unresponsively, he shrugged at Hunith, words unable to leave his lips. How could he possibly describe what he had seen? Noticing his behaviour, Hunith turned to her husband imploringly. Balinor leant close to his son.

“What’s wrong son?” he asked.

“I…Gaius…th-the-th _eeey…”_ he hissed, clamping his eyes shut for a moment, holding a hand to his head. “I found him.” Pause. “I found _Gaius.”_

Gwen clasped her hands together, holding them to her mouth; Will’s eyes widened; Hunith sighed.

“Oh _Merlin-”_

Unpredictably, Merlin jumped into wild animation, body tightening in posture. “-they had him chained up. They were _hurting him,_ taking his magic away.

And I couldn’t save him, I tried. It was no good. It couldn’t be broken. And then this woman, _Morgause,_ she-”

Balinor’s expression faltered, concern morphing into a moment of alarm.

“-Morgause.”

Gazing over to his father, Merlin narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Yes. Who is she father?”

Grimacing, Balinor cast a glance to a fearful Hunith before clutching his son by the shoulder.

“We need to talk son.”

**♦☼♦**

“Many years ago,” Balinor began, voice laced in something Merlin was too weary to try and identify.

It had been a long, defeating day in the other world. The dark veil of the night had wrapped its blanket of sparkling diamonds around Albion, twinkling beautifully above where the pair sat on a rock beside _Beorhtne*;_ the mesmerising lake a few miles from Ealdor. Merlin observed as a striking white Rocus – a smaller, and far more passive bird presumed by many to originate from the giant Roc – gliding with supreme elegance, creating an alluring rippling effect across the water. Smiling lightly, Merlin felt guilt smother his body. Today had been the day he’d seen things he never could have imagined in his darkest nightmares. He was unaware of just how cruel humanity could be- until today.

Worst of all, he had abandoned Gaius, left him there to suffer under the hands of the man he had been friends with for his whole life: Uther Pendragon. Scrunching his fists into balls over his knees, Merlin bowed his head, inhaling a sharp intake of breath. Realising his father had stopped talking, he lifted his gaze to the man. Balinor gently smoothed a palm over Merlin’s shoulder, and then continued.

“...Morgause was part of the Ealdor druid clan once.” He mused, eyes averting to admire the night sky.

Tearing his head away from the sight of the Rocus on the lake, Merlin narrowed his eyes sceptically. He could sense his father’s apprehension- his father was never worried. In fact, Balinor was renowned for his calm composure; it was what made him a great leader. 

 “How come I’ve never heard of her until now?” he asked inquisitively, scanning his father’s face for any clues.

Smiling with a poignancy Merlin could not understand, Balinor met his son’s curious sapphire eyes.

“She was brilliant at magic son, _brilliant.”_ Sigh. “But she was vindictive, _manipulative._ When she took the liberty to enter that world, we all knew it was too late.”

Twisting his lips, Merlin picked up a pebble by his feet delicately. For a moment, he wondered if it was appropriate to mention what he had been told by Morgause in the lab, or if he should keep it to himself. After turning the stone around in his palm four times, Merlin’s skewed lips unfastened themselves, and the pebble returned to its resting place.

“She said…she said that nobody came to help her. Is that true?”

“NO.” Balinor animatedly retorted. The Rocus hovering over the lake flew off hastily at the sudden shout. He made a move to stand up but somehow managed to channel his evident anger. Flinching a little in surprise, Merlin pursed his lips once more, a little annoyed the Rocus had gone – it was somewhat comforting to watch _something_ enjoying the gift of nature without counterfeit.

“She’s a liar. We sent many druids out to help her, she betrayed us _._ She turned them all in, _killed them.”_

Eyes wide, Merlin gaped in shock at this statement. Raising a hand to his tousled hair, he dove a hand into it, trying to put the pieces together about this Morgause woman. But she was more enigmatic than ever before now all this newfound knowledge was being bombarded his way. Drawing his eyebrows together, Merlin sighed.

“What…I don’t…” _why would a druid do that to another druid?_ “…I don’t understand father.”

Balinor shook his head slowly, and bought a hand to his dark beard.

“When Morgause left Albion, she saw what Uther was doing to the druids. She pledged allegiance to him, using her magic to _help_ those who _hated_ it.”

It didn’t take Merlin long to establish what had really happened in that lab. Morgause, she _worked_ in the laboratory. She must have been responsible for turning Gaius in to Uther Pendragon. And yet, she _too_ had magic. Blinking rapidly to avoid tears, Merlin bit his lip fearfully. What was she doing to him now? Who else would she turn in? He wondered for a second about the blonde dollophead he’d met in the elevator, Arthur Pendragon. Did he care about the druids who went to his father’s labs? Would he continue this callous policy when he took over the company? Judging by his attitude towards druids in the elevator – and the fact he was a complete idiot – Merlin assumed the good-looking male would no doubt follow in those footsteps, continue to destroy the trust and respect each race once had for each other. 

And yet, the one person who _apparently_ could change it all was Emrys…this supernatural being everybody believed Merlin was. It was ridiculous. Yes, his magic was undeniably powerful – he _stopped time_ for twenty seconds when he was just two – but that did not mean that he was the mighty savoir of the druids. There had been no _true_ affirmation for Merlin personally that he was Emrys, or that he could ever live up to the great prophecy shadowing over his attempt at normalcy. Grinding his teeth together dismally, Merlin picked up the pebble he’d found earlier.

“…before I left.” He said, gently smoothing a finger over the stone. “She told me a storm was coming. What does that mean?”

Merlin recalled the icy tone of her voice, the piercing intense gaze she delivered as she said those words. It sounded far from a simple meteorological phenomenon; in fact it almost resembled a threat. The kind of threat that wasn’t empty- it was full of a menacing promise and an overwhelming prophetic undertone. The expression on his father’s face signalled that he had perhaps said something wrong, or opened a new gateway of thoughts. Those soft, brown eyes hardened into rock, the grimace plastered across those tightened lips far from comforting. Studying Balinor’s shift in behaviour, Merlin swallowed-hard, awaiting the answer to his question. But nothing could have prepared him for the severity of his father’s next words.

“I fear it means that Albion is no longer safe from the outside world.”

Scoffing instantly at that, Merlin shook his head in avid denial. No. Albion, it was _their home,_ their world. It was protected. It was-

“-It’s protected by magic father, by the _Naiimen Barrier**_. They can’t even _see_ this land.”

Balinor merely observed his son’s intensified features, and pensively clasped his hands together above his knees. The words that escaped that wise mouth angered the young druid further.

“…Times change, people change.”

Times change, people change. Merlin almost screamed at the sound of those words, that stupid saying. He’d heard it enough times today, in all sorts of contexts. Throwing the pebble into the lake forcefully, Merlin hugged his knees in aggravation.

“Why does _everyone_ keep saying that?” he noticed his father’s hands twitching a little, and narrowed his eyes. His magic instantaneously picked up on the shift in his father’s attitude. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The straight-forward, direct question was met with a laboured sigh, gesturing that there was something Balinor _was_ keeping secret. Releasing his knees, Merlin titled his head, eyes firm. His father was not the kind to keep secrets, particularly from his own son – future leader of the clan. If there was something hidden from him, Merlin knew it had to be extremely…brushing the negative adjectives hurling around his brain away, the raven-haired boy watched his father stand.

“Gaius left Albion to keep track of Morgause and what was happening in Camelot Enterprise. Each night, he was ordered to report back to the clan what was going on.”

Out of all of this, Merlin picked up on one thing. Raising his head, he clenched a fist by his side.

“Who ordered him?” he spat, a small dangerous growl threatening to erupt from inside his chest.

His magic, his magic was _furious_ at the notion that somebody had _sent_ Gaius into that world. He had been putting himself in harm’s way everyday even more than Merlin could have ever imagined. Merlin didn’t need his father to answer because he _knew_ the answer. Getting to his feet, he turned his back on Balinor, hand pressed to his lips.

“Me, I regret to say-“

“-How dare you.” Merlin whispered, the trees around him rocked to the melancholic beating of his heart.

A wave of unprecedented nausea smothered his body. His _father_ was the reason Gaius was now in captivity. Closing his eyes for a moment, Merlin exhaled slowly, in order to try and regulate his breathing. Finally, he spun around to face his father, face swathed in hurt.

“How _could_ you-“

“-Merlin _listen_ to me...”

Reaching for his son quickly, Balinor firmly placed a hand on his shoulder. Merlin didn’t struggle, he gazed into his father’s eyes resignedly. This whole day had been full of disappointment. Person after person he’d met, all were exactly the same. When he noticed his father’s eyes flashing with _fear,_ Merlin clocked back into his surroundings, allowing himself to fully focus on the words rushing through his ears.

“…Five nights ago, Gaius told me that Camelot Enterprise had built a machine with the help of Morgause, which could _disable_ the Naiimen barrier.”

Staggering backwards in horror at the notion of such a thing, Merlin felt his own body tremor with _fear._ Fear. That was the first thing the mighty Emrys felt about this all – fear. Morgause’s words finally made sense. They - Camelot– they were coming to Albion. A horrible feeling wretched inside his gut. He needed no confirmation of this, it was true – the deepest essence of his magic was tingling with anxiety. Camelot had been using the druids, extracting their magic to _build_ something that would destroy the safe-haven of Albion forever. Merlin knew what they had done to their earth, stripped it bare greedily, cut down its forests, depleted its minerals and soils, overworked its body. The thought of them coming here and doing the same – an unfamiliar frenzy spread over him. This couldn’t happen. No matter what. He would stop this. He’d _have_ to.

“Does…does mum know?” he choked out bleakly, glancing over at his father who held the same morbid expression.

 _“Merlin_ -”

“-Does she know?” he repeated despondently, bowing his head.

Merlin heard his father take a few steps closer towards him.

“You and I are the only souls in Ealdor, and probably the only souls in _Albion_ who know.”

Meeting his father’s eyes vacantly, Merlin tried to process everything that had just been said. Albion was no longer protected, _they_ were coming, and only he and his father knew _anything_ about it.

“You kept this to yourself.” Merlin thought aloud. “you didn’t tell _anyone.”_ Selfish was the word that emanated between his tone.

Miles away, other clans could have been making preparations for their arrival or migrating somewhere Camelot would most likely leave untouched. What would they do with the druids? Wincing at the images flickering through his mind, Merlin clamped his eyes shut.

“I couldn’t Merlin, I still _can’t –_ don’t you understand? Albion is all the druids know, all the druids love. You mustn’t tell a soul.”

Opening his eyes, Merlin nodded solemnly. Generally, he was a bad liar. But when it came to things of great importance, things that would change _everything,_ he sacrificed his own feelings and replaced it with the bigger picture. His father was right. If _anybody_ found out about this, there would be panic. Druids would be distraught. It seemed only fair to let the relish in the tranquillity of Albion before the monsters arrived.

“When do you think they’ll arrive?”

“Soon. From what Gaius told me, they plan to establish a base near Serepolis and then work from there a few months after-“

Serepolis, Freya’s home - that was close to Ealdor, and Dresdentian.

“-Freya.” Merlin sighed, who knew how hostile they would be when they arrived. What if they tried to harm them? They no doubt would try to hurt her _nocturnal_ state. Then his mind drifted to an old companion Gilli, who now lived right on the Western coastline. Then other names flooded his mind. Aglain, Swrenick, Olian, Regan, Khara, Will, Gwen, father, _mother_. All of his loved ones, all of his friends. They would _all_ be affected by this, wherever they were. He gazed imploringly at his father.

“What do they _want_?”

Shaking his head in dismay, Balinor grimaced.

“Land? Power? Magic? Whatever it is, they’re not going to take our homeland from us without a fight.”

“But we are peaceful people, all the druids are.” Merlin replied, though in reality, he could feel himself already _willing_ to comply with his father’s rather human words and vanquish Camelot.

Laughing fondly, Balinor lifted a hand to Merlin’s hair and ruffled it playfully.

“I taught you well son.”

The pair had promptly agreed silently it was time to move on from the subject of doom and gloom, and the end the conversion in their usual light-hearted manner. Merlin was one of these people who constantly tried to overlook seriousness and replace it with humour. This was an opportune moment. Nudging Merlin gently, Balinor smiled genuinely.

“Rest. Tomorrow you have druids to teach, Wyverns to tame.”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin felt his shoulders slump at the _thought_ of his daily duties.

“I _joyously_ await the next sunrise.” He replied sarcastically, a coy smile seeping onto his face.

Balinor’s smile faded, and he patted his son on the back gently, gesturing for them to leave the lake. Taking one final glance at the serene, sparkling waters, Merlin then turned on his heel, heading towards the dark forest.

“Son,” Balinor said when they had climbed substantially high enough into the canopy to avoid the predators of the night below. “you know I wouldn’t have kept any of this from you unless I had to.”

Grabbing a vine ahead, Merlin shrugged.

“I know.” 

Swinging elegantly on the vine to the next tree, Merlin tossed it back to his father who followed swiftly.

“What are you going to do about Gaius father?” he asked as his father walked behind him on the mossy tree.

“I hope that when Camelot Enterprise set up base here, they’ll take him too. He’s valuable, he knows a lot.” he paused. “If not, we’ll find out what they want. Negotiate.” Merlin gazed back to his father. “Like the peaceful people we are.”

They made it back to Ealdor in silence. It wasn’t until they had jumped off the last tree and made it to the settlement that Merlin burst anxiously, the thoughts stirring his mind no longer able to retain them.

“What if negotiating isn’t enough?” he scanned cautiously around to ensure nobody was eavesdropping. Lowering his voice for good measure, Merlin frowned. “It’s _Gaius!”_

“Always so determined Merlin.” Balinor muttered gently. Kissing his son’s forehead gently, he caressed the hollow cheekbones. “We will get Gaius back. But right now, you need to sleep.”

Taking a step back from Merlin, he nodded passively.

“Ic æalá ðu.”

Meeting his father’s eyes for a moment, Merlin pressed a hand to his heart, bowing his head obediently at the sacred words. His magic hummed at the honesty radiating from these simple words. For a split second, his world was full of nothing but magic, family, friends and serenity.

“Ic æalá ðu.”

And then it was all gone, replaced with a blackening void.

Albion was no longer safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Beorhtne - to glow brightly. (The waters of this lake shimmer with magic, giving it an ethereal atmosphere and making the water look like it is glowing.) 
> 
> **The Naiimen Barrier - Discussed further in later chapters. The Naiimen is another concept by me. Basically in the days of old, there were three powerful sorcerers who were called The Naiimen. They assembled a great barrier to protect Albion from the outside world. The barrier is made from old, ancient magic.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The conference room was a place Camelot Enterprise deployed regularly. It was normal occurrence to be called into a meeting. However, in this particular situation, the meeting had been scheduled a mere _hour_ beforehand, and revealed to only four people via an email that was marked as high priority. The thought of it made the blonde’s hands a little clammy. Arthur Pendragon was sure this had to mean that _something_ terrible had happened, because his father rarely _ever_ used the high priority on emails, and conferences were never usually held with this… _mixture_ of people. Scrolling through the names, Arthur held a hand to his chin inquisitively. Morgana, Leon, Cedric (he rolled his eyes at that name), Valiant (that one too, twat) and himself. They were all key people in the business, yet their positions were contrasting.

The fact that Uther had copied _Morgause_ into the email made it even more of a mystery – she dealt with all the Magical related stuff, working in the labs for most of the time. Arthur had recalled seeing her icy eyes only a handful of times, her piercing fierce stare was not one anybody could easily forget.

Shutting off his laptop, Arthur frowned. The day couldn’t have gotten _any_ more stressful than it had already.  There had been some kind of disturbance in the laboratory two weeks ago, the day he’d met that _infuriating_ John Smith, and he had no doubt whatsoever that Morgana had somehow put the scrawny, ridiculous man up to trying something suicidal down there. Naturally, even though Arthur had nothing to do with the Lab projects, he was given all the paperwork for said incident. It had taken one week _alone_ to plough through the substantial messy pile of folders, and try to piece together a story that wasn’t ambiguous and blatantly fake. But that was easier said than done, particularly as Arthur himself did not know what _had_ happened, and nobody would tell him.

Then there was _Morgana_ , who was adamant in protesting that she had _nothing_ to do with the appearance of this ‘John Smith’. This, of course, was a stupid lie because it had her fingerprints _all over it._ Then he’d had to deal with Gwaine’s _gloating_ \- the constant teasing that he _knew_ John Smith’s real name. Arthur knew he would never reveal it, which simply aggravated him more. Gwaine had started calling Arthur ‘dollophead’ because apparently it was _hilarious._ Grinding his teeth together in frustration, Arthur stood from his office chair and glanced down at his watch; five minutes until this unexpected meeting was to take place. He pulled his black suit jacket over his shoulders, exiting the office in a brisk walk, dispelling ‘John Smith’ from his mind.

As he turned left down a new corridor, he found himself graced with the presence of the familiar raven-haired woman. She was wearing her famous black dress, the one that put Arthur in charge of scolding the perverse wandering eyes she received from almost everybody. It wasn’t even that short, knee length or slightly lower, but it flattered her body marvellously. Morgana titled her head towards him assertively, adjusting her scarlet glasses whilst walking beside him. Acknowledging her gesture, he frowned. He really was _not_ in the mood to listen to one of her opinionated speeches or deal with her antics.

“What is it Morgana?” he huffed drearily, picking his pace up a little. Being late to his father’s meeting was _not_ an option.

Shrugging silently, Morgana kept her lips pressed shut tightly. This action caused an elaborate eye roll on Arthur’s part. Though inside, his mind was stirring. No doubt Morgana had picked up on the same things, maybe her inquisitive mind had deduced even more than he had. Either way, the name _Morgause_ would not be included if it wasn’t something to do with magic. The pair continued down the bland corridor without any apparent contact with each other. Arthur took this opportunity to run through the paperwork in his hands. If this was an _urgent_ meeting, he assumed Uther was going to want figures, statistics or something of the sort for the year’s first quarter. A smirk tugged at his lips when he noticed Morgana peering over at his preparation in envy, or even worry that she had not thought to do the same.

He placed the paper back into his folder a few minutes later, just long enough to tease her a little more. An audible sigh escaped Morgana’s lips. Glancing over to her, Arthur watched her narrowed eyes lock on two figures standing in front of them. One was a well-built man in a navy blue suit, with rugged looks and an intense presence. His very aura demonstrated he was an alpha male, a nasty gleam in his eyes suggested that nobody should question his apparent greatness. The other obeyed his every command, more like the lanky sidekick. He was wearing a grey suit – similar to Arthur’s – with what Arthur would classify as _long hair_ for a man (meaning it fell a little over one eye on the side and came slightly below the ears) wearing an unpleasant slimy smile. The two of them combined created a spiteful duo.

Oh _great._

Clenching his fists slightly, Arthur strode forwards with a charming smile plastered over his face. When it came to Valiant and Cedric, biting your tongue and pretending that they were actually _significant_ was all you could do. Especially in Arthur’s case, for reasons he didn’t understand his father _valued_ their supposed expertise. Valiant, the more defined of the pair, smirked wickedly at Arthur. Quickly, Arthur averted his gaze uncomfortably; he wasn’t in the mood for some pointless confrontation or ‘Arthur-bashing’ as Morgana had labelled it.

Apparently, a minute handful of people thought he was the weak link in the Pendragon chain, not worthy of his father’s inheritance or the business for that matter. Valiant and Cedric were at the forefront of this vicious campaign against him. It was a subtle movement, gestured through things as little a body language, word phrasing and general attitude towards him; Uther Pendragon seemed oblivious to any attempts of people making his son feel incompetent at his job. Arthur tried to brush past the pair, the conference room was a few metres ahead he could make it if he really tried- A firm hand grasped him by the shoulder.

“Ah, _Valiant_.” He said through a false smile, eyes riming with distaste.

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur blinked at the man who was significantly taller and stronger and _could-so-beat-him-up_ if he wanted to. Intimidation was something the Pendragon’s were masters at hiding, and some even believed Arthur Pendragon’s façade of nonchalance in situations like these.

“So, do you have something to say to me?” he jibed, awaiting some kind of insult. “or are you just going to stare at me like a rabid mutt all day?”

Snarling, Valiant released Arthur forcefully.

“Watch yourself Blondie.” He spat.

Adjusting his suit, Arthur walked briskly away from the pair, and into the large conference room. Confusion washed over his face. It was as he had suspected. There was a large table in the centre of the room – far too big for five people to sit at - and a huge screen at the back with a projector. Standing by the laptop beside the projector was the fierce Uther Pendragon, and to his left was none other than Morgause. Arthur took a place at the table, next to Leon who smiled genuinely at him before glancing over to Morgana opposite them coyly. Valiant and Cedric centred themselves between Arthur and Morgana. The blonde woman with her severe gaze strode towards the doors and shut them, dimming the lights a little to allow the screen to resonate better.

“Thank you,” Uther Pendragon’s voice resounded around the room. “for arriving so promptly. There is a matter of great importance I wish to bring your attention to.” He paused, and walked towards the table with a proud smile.

“A new project.” Arthur and Morgana exchanged befuddled glances.

A new project? How did Arthur not know anything about this? Uther _always_ consulted him with new projects- as a means of giving his son an insight to the future of his career, and to develop his skills. Swallowing-hard, Arthur glanced over to his father who was looking at the screen triumphantly. And then a word appeared on the screen, a very dangerous word. It was a word Arthur Pendragon had never expected to see here of _all places._

Albion.

Arthur heard Valiant beside him animatedly whispering to Cedric. He was too bewildered to process the words or take in anything else around other than this word. _Albion-_ the magical place, the realm where druids lived in harmony and tranquillity away from this prejudiced land. It was apparently larger than the continent of Oceania, more spectacular than any of this world’s wonder. And – his eyes wavered towards Morgause’s mischievous eyes – it was protected from this world by ancient magic. A slight nausea washed over Arthur, he ran a hand through his golden hair slowly. Albion. His father’s voice broke him out of his trance.

“Welcome to the Albion Project.”

The words confirmed his growing suspicions. Leon looked excited next to him, clearly overwhelmed by the notion; Morgana looked disgusted. Arthur wasn’t sure what to think, or what to feel.

“Using state of the art technology developed by Morgause and _extensive_ magical research-”

“-you mean _torture-”_ Morgana viciously interjected, fingers digging into the wooden table.  Uther shot her a pointed glare before continuing.

“-We have managed to remove the magical barrier that protects Albion from the outside world.”

Arthur watched his father press the remote control in his hands, leading to a new slide; an overhead picture of a vast expanse of untouched, spectacular land. He hadn’t realised his mouth had opened, his eyes wide in awe. _Albion –_ it wasn’t just a myth. It was _real!_ He could see Leon squealing like a girl who had been named prom queen beside him. Sighing, Arthur remained silent, unsure where exactly this whole thing was going. Surely his father wasn’t thinking of _going_ to Albion was he? …Was it possible? Was it _legal?_ A shiver swept down Arthur’s spine; he highly doubted that Camelot Enterprise would have to worry about legalities. The picture flickered to another snapshot of the world. Arthur found himself enraptured by the beauty and simplicity of it; unspoiled forests outstretched for miles and miles. The trees were verdant green, full of vibrancy against the crystal blue sky. The sun was streaming down idyllically onto this newfound paradise. It was staggeringly beautiful, like nothing he had ever seen before.

The picture then morphed into a detailed map.

“Now observe this image,” Uther said, clicking the remote. “A cloropleth map showing the deposits of _raw_ oil in the middle regions.”

The picture was saturated in deep red and dark brown, with rare traces of yellow and orange. One spot in particular appeared to be _teeming_ with the fossil fuel. Arthur felt his heart plummet, so this was the apparent motive. Go into the druid’s sanctuary, and take all of their resources. For reasons Arthur didn’t want to understand, he felt mildly sickened by this proposal. Cedric leant forwards, pointing a finger with enthusiasm.

“I’d say the big money is on that rather large spot over there.”

All eyes darted towards the sight, it was indeed the spot Arthur had suspected.

“Ah.” Uther’s lips tightened. “That. _Yes._ That’s erm…what is it again Morgause?” he asked almost dismissively, Morgana curled her lip at his tone.

“The Crystal Cave, the place where druids believed their magic itself derived from.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Arthur disliked the sound of this _a lot._ Discriminating against druids was one thing, but invading their _homeland_ and stripping it of its natural resources was another thing- a very concerning thing. Even worse – eyeing up their _sacred_ religious area as an excavation site; it was almost parallel to the notion of blowing up St. Peter’s Basilica. Leon suddenly spoke, unable to conceal his profound knowledge of the druids any longer. Eyes lighting up in anxiety, his voice resonated.

“It’s also,” he stood up, gesturing for Uther to move the slide. The cloropleth faded and revealed another map showing the population of each area. “home to one of the _largest_ druid clans-“

“-They’ll move, with _force_ they’ll move.” Cedric sneered.

“And boy, do we have _force.”_ Valiant added.

Unsure where the surge of irrepressible protest came from, Arthur shook his head animatedly.

“-No.” Morgana raised her eyebrows appreciatively. “No, you’re looking at it all wrong. There are clearly other dense deposits of oil on this land, which are most likely unpopulated and will bring _no_ conflict with the druids-“

The bulky man beside him focused his attention to Arthur, his face smeared with repugnance. Despite the clear disagreement emanating from Valiant and his sleazy co-worker Cedric, Arthur’s voice sparked up Morgana’s argumentative nature.

“-I can’t believe you’re thinking of _mining_ in one of the druids most sacred areas, let alone where _people_ live!” She stood up objectively, chair falling down behind her from the force of this motion. “What kind of heartless monster are you?!”

There was a tense silence, where the raven-haired woman’s words were allowed to linger and sink in. Then Uther lifted his eyes to hers with a stern calmness and her dispute perished instantly.

“Have I at _any_ point said that we were going to target the Ealdor region?” he asked rhetorically, raising his arms to engage the group of people in front of him. Bowing her head, Morgana sighed, picked up her chair and sat back down slowly.

“Then _please,_ allow me to finish. The next few weeks are going to consist of making preparations. When we land, we will build our main base, near Ealdor and Serepolis. Before we even _begin_ thinking about mining, there are procedures and things we must do first.” Uther glanced over towards the brown-haired male. “Leon if you will.”

It was then Arthur realised that his father must have told Leon about this project before the meeting. He clenched one of his fists under the table in rage – this constant neglect to include him in his father’s work, more recently than ever, was beginning to affect him greatly. Why had his father not trusted him with this? A rational part of him mind interjected: Leon was the magical expert, Uther needed some kind of reassuring statement from somebody who understood magical relations in order for this project to be fully supported. 

“Thank you Sir Pendragon. We must first make sure the druids understand that by settling upon their land we mean no harm to them. We must learn their ways, study them, respect their culture.”

Arthur was not surprised at the rude snort that sounded to his right. Bringing a hand to his lips to try and restrain his irritation at Valiant, he tapped his fingernails gently against the table.

“Please. The only way _they_ will understand us, is if we show them that we do not take _no_ for an answer-“

“-They’re people. Just like you and I.” Leon replied bitterly, surprising both Arthur and Morgana with his forceful tone; it was unlike Leon to be anything but polite and calm.

Nonetheless, Arthur found himself agreeing with his friend’s statement. Before anybody else had the chance to respond, Uther Pendragon took a step forwards to the table.

“Yes. But let us remember that they are druids and our negotiations with them will be most absolutely beneficial to us.”

Well, that was definitely a more subtle way to display prejudice against the druids. It seemed Arthur wasn’t the only one to pick up on his father’s crude tone.

“You speak of the druids like they’re nothing but scum on your shoe-”

“-Well,” Valiant spat with a callous laugh. “that’s what they are aren’t they? Shit on the sidewalk-”

Cedric sniggered. In a flash, Morgana was on her feet, ready to no doubt pounce on Valiant and cut out his tongue with her fingers. But Arthur was quicker, grabbing her arm forcefully – he would not let her go through with something she would regret. He held a hand up in the air, eyes narrowed towards the disdainful man causing all of the unnecessary conflict. Morgana released herself from his grasp, remaining standing, as did Valiant and Arthur. It was moments like these where those who did not believe in Arthur’s authority and prominence were subjected to scrutiny, for he now had everybody in the room focusing on him.

“Father.” He said sternly, eyes never leaving Valiant. “You can’t allow this kind of discrimination against the druids to continue. I will not tolerate one more bad word against them.”

Uther glanced over to Valiant, then to Morgana and nodded indifferently. The pair immediately sat down in dejection, knowing the conflict was over…for now.

“Arthur is right.” At these words, Arthur smiled with pride. “We must not speak erroneously of the druids that live in Albion. They could be far different from the extremists we encounter in this world. Now, we depart for Albion in three weeks. Cedric, Morgause; you are to be responsible for the locations of our future mining projects in Albion. Valiant, Morgana I want you on logistics and military defences…”

Sitting back down, Arthur felt his anxiety fade away. His father trusted him, respected his decisions. An open agreement with his own son was a very rare gesture – an open agreement with _anybody_ was too. Reaching for the glass of water in front of him, Arthur took a generous gulp. Everything appeared to be in his favour…until his mind focused back onto his father’s words and he heard something utterly preposterous.

“…human-druid affairs. Arthur, you’re to work under Leon’s department.”

Arthur almost spat the water in his mouth back out all over the table, instead he choked rather audibly at his father’s words. All eyes were on him. But not for this reason- because he was working _under_ somebody. _U_ _nder_ a department, under someone-fucking-else. In his whole time in Camelot, Uther had _never_ put Arthur under the authority of somebody else apart from himself. He was _always_ the second highest figure in the business, in any project, in _everything._  No, _no._ Panic spread through his veins. Arthur had not been sent to work under someone else’s department _ever._ This was the biggest insult that could have ever been dealt. Uther’s mouth opened once more to conclude the meeting, but Arthur wasn’t listening. He was staring vacantly at the glass of water in shock. How could this have happened? He’d never put a foot wrong under his father’s gaze.

“We will meet again with the whole team for the Albion Project next week, to discuss the safety precautions and development plans for each department.”

With that, everybody at the table simultaneously stood, wise to have established that was the gesture to leave and get back to work. Adjusting his grey suit gently, pride and confidence demolished, Arthur stupidly glanced over at Valiant who was smugly leaning in towards him.

“…not even leading a team, wow. How far you’ve fallen, maybe your father finally knows what we all do about you. You’re _weak,_ insignificant and-“

“-Arthur a word.” Uther’s voice rang out, clearly aware of the scene before him.

Quickly, Valiant scrambled from the room, leaving Arthur to dwell on his words. Weak. Insignificant. It was a wonder why words sometimes seemed to sting more than any physical injury. Walking towards his father, Arthur sighed. He had nothing to say to his father now. Not after that public humiliation, it seemed clear that Uther was somehow ashamed of his son and his work.

“You look troubled.”

Laughing derisively, Arthur shook his head slowly, eyes dark. He animatedly turned towards his father.

“You just… _humiliated_ me in front of the whole company by placing _me_ under Leon’s department!” another sadistic sound escaped is lips. “ _Leon’s-_ really father? I-”

“-Do you not know that everything I do, I do for a reason Arthur?” Uther interjected softly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. Allowing his fury to wither for a moment, Arthur shook his head.

“What reason would you have to _insult_ my stature in this way father? People are going to talk and know that the rumours of me being (biting his lip he regurgitated the words Valiant had used) weak and insignificant are-“

“Arthur.” Uther said sternly. “I have no doubt in you whatsoever.”

The words filled half the hole that had singed his heart, but the other remained empty. No doubt; there was belief. But no doubt was still a long shot from absolute faith.

“Which is _why_ I’ve give you the most important job on the project.”

Heart racing, Arthur met his father’s eyes curiously. What did he mean? How could he have the most important job when he was working under somebody else’s department? Pursing his lips, the blonde delved into his mind, trying to solve this riddle. He was unsuccessful.

“I…I don’t understand.” He said simply, confusion etching onto his face.

Turning away from Arthur, Uther paced around the room slowly.

“I’ve led Leon to believe that his colleagues Gwaine and Lancelot are to be collecting information about the land, and eventually befriending the druids to convince them that we come in peace so to speak. The reality is this,” pause. Uther spun back to his son, walking towards him urgently.

“The Crystal Cave is an opportunity we cannot pass. I need _you_ to go to the Ealdor clan, but with a different agenda. Convince those druids to _leave_ their settlement.”

On the outside, Arthur appeared to show no emotion. On the inside however, he felt slightly nauseous, his worst fears were a reality. He should have known that his father would be unable to look beyond the biggest accumulation of oil. Swallowing-hard, he met his father squarely in the eyes.

“And if they refuse?”

Silence. Arthur clenched his fists, teeth gritted. It was hardly likely that these druids were going to surrender their holy land, their _everything_ for Camelot, the business that had spread the prosecution of druids worldwide. He dreaded to think what his father’s actions would be if this were the case. He didn’t have to think long.

“Then I have no choice. We _need_ that oil-“

“-F-father-“ Arthur spluttered, unable to contain his shock, eyes widened at this blatantly inappropriate suggestion. That was the even more shocking thing – to many, this would not be seen as immoral or wrong.

“-After we have built our base and established our agenda, you will have five months to convince them to move. The future of Camelot Enterprise’s reputation and power depends on this one negotiation.” Uther patted his son’s shoulder compellingly. “I’m sorry to place such a burden upon you but there is no-one else that I can trust. Tell _no-one_ of this.”

**♦☼♦**

“Valiant!” Morgana spat over dinner that evening in Arthur’s apartment. She stuck her knife vehemently into her lasagne, Arthur watched observantly, trying to dismiss the events of today seemed more and more impossible. 

“Valiant. I can’t _believe_ Uther expects me to work with that…that pig!”

“I’d advise you do so with caution, we both witnessed his attitude towards the project this afternoon.” Arthur stated slowly, sitting down opposite Morgana.

Titling her head, the raven-haired woman smiled.

“It’s unlike you to get so worried Arthur.” She cooed.

Sipping his wine, Arthur rolled his eyes. He took a second to appreciate the rich, fruity flavour of the Rioja before replying.

“I’m being serious Morgana. You will be careful won’t you? Valiant is forceful man.”

She smirked playfully.

“And _I’m_ a forceful woman.”

Arthur didn’t have the energy to respond. For a few moments, fate allowed his world to consist of lasagne and wine- two wonderful things that caused him no stress, two marvellous things that didn’t talk, didn’t call him _weak_ or _insignificant,_ two things that didn’t order him about to do the impossible.

“What was all that about anyway?” Morgana said pensively through a mouthful of lasagne. Swallowing her mouthful, she finished her sentence.

“Uther placing you in a department you don’t belong, and _underneath_ somebody else?”

Ah, so she _had_ picked up on that. Of course she had. Barely anything made its way past Morgana’s sharp inquisitive mind.

“I respect my father’s decision. If he wants me to work for Leon, I will do so.” He responded gently, taking another sip of wine to compensate for the massive lie he had just told. Obviously, he would work for Leon; he was a respected colleague and long-time friend. Yet the haunting words of his father were ones that he knew could never be spoken.

Smiling, Morgana put her fork down.

“Arthur, what I said when Gaius…” she paused, both of them thinking back on that dreadful day. “Well…I wanted to apologise. You’re not cold, and you’re not heartless. It was wrong of me to judge you in such a way on one action that was not of your own doing.”

In all their years of growing up together, Arthur Pendragon truly believed that this was the nicest thing she had ever said to him. And right now, this apology, this playing up of his good qualities was just what he needed. Because sometime in the future, he was going to do something undeniably bad, completely of his own doing.

He was going to do something completely Pendragon.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Balinor knew any other druid would have gone to great lengths to have the chance to look into the Crystals of Ealdor. It was one of those special moments almost every druid dreamt of in their childhood when told the story of the Crystals. Only those chosen, _destined,_ were allowed to glimpse into the creamy, white crystals and interpret the future. It was Merlin’s destiny to do so, and in more depth than Balinor had ever done. Not only was he expected to do so as the future ruler of the Ealdor clan, but as the one and only _Emrys._ His wife tried not to think about who and what Emrys was. It never bode well in her mind, the notion that her son was the most powerful druid to have ever lived, and that one day he would fulfil all that the scriptures of the _æmryš_ had prophesised. Balinor tried to look upon his son as a normal druid too, not wanting him to feel isolated or different from the others. But it was _hard,_ especially as he had grown older.

His birth, rarely spoken of, was a whirlwind of chaos within itself. After his conception in the blackened night, storms raged through the earth, trees uplifted from their roots. There were droughts for many months in the desert regions of Albion, and treacherous floods where the land kissed the water’s feet. Many rejoiced instead of mourning over this disaster, believing this was the time Emrys was finally born into the world:

_ _

Balinor and Hunith prayed to the Gods that no matter who their son would be, he would be safe. They had been showered with glorious gifts from the clan, and from druids all across Albion. The moment he was born, the whole of Albion appeared to dwell in a lingering silence, the night sky filling up with a peculiar aurora of vibrant colours and patterns tremendously. Balinor and Hunith pretended they hadn’t seen it, not wanting to admit the legends were true and place such a burden on their only child this young in his life. But even then, Balinor could not deny that his son’s birth had been foreshadowed in a stanza found within the book of old.

_ _

Balinor had put a ban on the word ‘Emrys’. Nobody in the clan was to speak that name or call Merlin by it until the legends had proven themselves to be true. Merlin deserved a proper childhood, away from the burdens of Emrys before it would totally consume him in later life. However, five years later, a foreign witch seeking Hunith’s healing powers had changed everything. The woman had pointed at Merlin vehemently, as if he were a daemon that could devour her any second. Then from her lips, the oldest name known to the druids echoed throughout Ealdor: Emrys. No matter how much Hunith and Balinor tried to prevent his son from remembering that word, Merlin was adamant, curious.

And it was from this young age he discovered his destiny.

Merlin had attempted to act like being Emrys changed nothing, but Balinor could see right through his son’s façade. Deep inside, Merlin was scared; uncertain of his power, unsure if he was an anomaly or special. Even now, at the age of twenty, the name shadowed over him compellingly.

“Do I _really_ have to do this father?” Merlin whined drearily as he climbed out of the tree sprouting with blossom, breaking Balinor from his thoughts. He pulled a hand through his black hair in exasperation before continuing.

“I’ve tamed _three_ Wyverns this morning, dealt with Will’s _stupidity-”_ he rolled his eyes comically at the memory of having to rescue Will from an unhappy Centaur in the forest earlier. Apparently, Will had been crazy enough to try and _mount_ it like a horse- and he _then_ had the audacity to question _why_ the Centaur had tried to kill him! Merlin felt a grin slip over his face at the mental image of stumbling upon this scene.

“-it’s part of your training to become the leader of Ealdor Merlin, you know this.” Balinor said grimly, gazing at his son’s face that had become troubled.  He _knew_ how much Merlin had been dreading this day- the day he first looked into the Crystals.

Sighing, Merlin nodded obediently, fists clenched on either side. There was no denying this moment, no backing down. This was something he knew he was going to have to do at some point in his life. The pair of them walked in silence down the parted archway of trees, streaks of sunlight burst through the canvas of leaves swaying above in the wind’s placid breath. The silence was strangely comforting, allowing the raven-haired man to cast his thoughts away; to indulge in the hypnotic swirling patterns of light, and absorb the astounding beauty of his homeland. He had not seen much of Albion, despite his desire to. There were so many overwhelming sights of nature’s skilful crafting: the valiant mountains of Ghedent said to _touch the tips of heaven_ , the lush paradise of Monus and its infinite garden of effervescent flowers, the great waterfall of Retriax, the Saerion reef…his magic shuddered at the notion of being able to see these places with his own eyes, and yet – he hadn’t even _begun_ the list of Albion’s finest landscape.

But Ealdor, he knew, was almost unparalleled in its beauty. The clan was blessed to have been offered this sacred land hundreds of years ago. It was here where the wise trees spoke a language long forgotten and grew to a formidable size, some spanning metres in width alone. It was here where the forests were cluttered with a magnificent ecosystem full of amazing creatures. Not only this- Ealdor had the Crystal Cave. The cave where the ancient texts had been created, where every foundation of druid law and morality had once been forged. It was the place thousands pilgrimaged to every year, from all across the land.

And here he was, one of a small handful to _ever_ enter inside.

Reaching the mouth of the cave, Merlin gazed over to his father with an uncertain frown. His heart raced, hands becoming a little clammy in apprehension. Noticing his son’s anxiety, Balinor pressed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke.

“Part of being a leader is being able to deal with difficult events, being able to interpret the unclear. Very few in the whole of Albion have the privilege of looking into the Crystals.”

Acknowledging his father’s words with a courteous nod, Merlin watched a bearded man emerge from the cave, donating a small smile in his direction. The smile unnerved him. Taliesin’s presence made the future ever more certain. Merlin was going to look into the Crystals _today,_ the crystals that had driven some to insanity- the crystals that could change a man and everything he believed in a matter of _seconds._ The raw magic here was overwhelming, tugging his own subconsciously forwards. Unable to resist the pull, Merlin turned to his father urgently. His father had come out of that cave unscathed; perhaps he would also. Perhaps he would not. His father was a strong, courageous man who not only mustered great magic but great strength and wisdom. Merlin was still learning, he was far from anything his father was, and even _further_ from Emrys. As he took a step forwards, that face entered his mind; his voice enough to dissipate any obstacle.

“Gaius once told me the future was dangerous, and the events aren’t always imminent, and to act upon what you see is unwise.” Merlin said quietly, voice swathed in evident concern for Gaius.

It had been Gaius who had prepared Balinor for his first reading of the Crystals after all. Clasping his hands together in a solemn gesture of commemoration and respect, Balinor caught his son’s eyes.

“Gaius is right.” He replied, the smile on his face not touching his eyes. “Taliesin will take it from here.”

With that, his father turned on his heel and walked down from the cave, leaving Merlin closer to the edge. Meeting Taliesin’s eyes, Merlin took one small step forwards with great indecision smothering his gait. He had never been inside the cave before. He’d _seen_ it of course, the clan performed many sacred rituals and blessings here. It was eerier than he had first imagined. Within the darkness ahead, he could see twinkling crystals shimmering, waiting to be read, ready to _read him_. A breath hitched itself awkwardly in his chest, causing a sensation of dizziness. This was it. This was the moment he had been destined for.

Merlin wasn’t stupid. He knew that the _æmryš_ had mentioned this day in an anonymous, yet memorable, ballad. If he recalled correctly, ‘ _he who is in fact he, will look into the eyes of stone and see what is- or what is not to be_.’ He was dubious of its true meaning; many nights it had kept him awake and wondering. Now it was all going to be answered, and yet – these answers would not be answers, but simply _more_ questions. The terrifying thing was that the questions he found within the crystals had the power to border impossibility.

“Young Merlin, the time has come for you to take your first look into the Crystals.”

“Whatever you see,” Taliesin’s voice rang out ahead of him. “be certain not to give this newfound information away freely. As a future ruler, part of this lesson is to teach you how to prepare for what challenges the future may bring to your people.”

The pair of them reached the end of the narrow tunnel that bled out into a vast clearing. Crystals, some larger than _Merlin himself_ were sprouting from the cave walls; he assumed they were profoundly deep in the heart of the cave. In the centre of this crystal chamber was one particularly engaging Crystal, jagged on its edges and quixotically smooth on its side. It was a metre or so high, reflective enough to be a mirror. But this was not a mirror into the present. Glancing to Taliesin, Merlin reluctantly took a step forwards towards this large Crystal. He was unsure how exactly to approach it. Did he need to cast a spell? Would it require any magic at all? Taliesin noted this confusion and misinterpreted it as fear.

“Fear not, these Crystals have not prophesised anything horrific for hundreds of years. And even when they have, the predictions are not always what they seem.”

Merlin assumed this was supposed to be reassuring. It only unleashed the panic that had been so carefully tucked away in the pit of his stomach. Bursting through his skin, the panic lit his sapphire eyes with real fear. He could not help but feel the future of his people, the wellbeing of the _druids_ rested on this event. Kneeling down before the large Crystal, Merlin stared into the white, shining stone. His reflection stared anxiously back at him, a ghostly projection of himself. Half of him expected it to magically shift into blinding images; the other half of him believed if he just kept staring intensely _something_ would appear.

Nothing happened.

About to turn around to the Crystal guardian, Merlin opened his mouth to speak. He was abruptly cut off by the man’s voice and a magical spell that indicated his attention was _not_ to leave the Crystal in front of him.

“Look into the crystals Emrys,” Taliesin hissed. “ _Really look.”_  

Merlin exhaled audibly. He _was_ looking. Frustrated, he distanced himself from the crystal, eyes never leaving it. He relaxed his gaze a little, opening his mind. Then all of a sudden, _something_ happened. The space around became unimportant, a different reality stuck in a mesh of blurry oblivion. His magic seared, and the Crystal slowly began to reveal its secrets. The first image was as clear as day, _so_ tantalisingly clear Merlin was certain he could reach to touch it. It showed the forests of Ealdor, and an unfamiliar familiar voice ringing through his ears, whispering his own name. Then it became disorientating, his forehead throbbing violently. The images seemed to move radically, bringing him towards them to create this overpowering motion sickness that enveloped his body.

A coin.

He saw flames, he heard screams. He saw happiness; he _felt_ a rush of ecstasy which was quickly intercepted with a limitless sadness. Blinding flashes of light, his own face swathed in tears, uncontrollable sobs tearing from his mouth; Gwenevere running; _a dragon_ surged towards him. Merlin fell backwards automatically to the ground, forgetting these images could not harm him, or that he was there. His eyes widened. _Destiny._ That world, _those people,_ weeping, _laughing._ Then it all spun round his head once more at a rapid pace. _Destiny._ Once and Future. A coin. Clutching both hands to his head, he groaned in agony. Destruction. Death.  Life. _Destiny._

The once and future.

Slamming his eyes shut, he wretched his body away from the Crystal, curling up defensively. He didn’t hear Taliesin come to his aid and gently smooth a palm over his trembling body. No. No. He could hear his own voice echoing throughout the cave, no longer sure if it was him or the projection of him in the Crystal. Opening his eyes abruptly, Merlin panted heavily. Taliesin’s mouth was moving, but his words were muted. Glancing away, the young man cast one brave glance back at the Crystal that had refrained from becoming a window of time.

Amongst everything he had seen, one thing had been constant in his vision: the striking blue eyes, the golden blonde hair of Arthur Pendragon.

Though what he had seen Arthur Pendragon do, what he had seen in the crystals…he felt his own mind barricade the memories away, not even able to _recall_ it.

One thing, however, he was absolutely certain of.

Arthur Pendragon _was_ coming to Albion.

And somehow, this clotpole was his destiny. 


	6. Chapter 6

It was five weeks after the conversation in the moonlight with his father, Balinor, about this very day that it happened. The sun had just toppled over the horizon languidly, leaving behind a smear of vibrant scarlet, amber and lilac that slowly morphed into the black blanket unfolding above. Merlin had never seen anything like it.

The strange sound of incessant buzzing echoed through the air, a peculiar ethos of panic had spread from clan to clan like wildfire. Merlin had felt the tremor of uncertainty. And then, as he glanced over towards Serepolis, his eyes met the burnishing flames. Swallowing-hard, he dreaded to move his focus to where Dresdentian lay. In a few seconds, he bravely glanced over, only to be met by the same glow.  The beacons had been lit, which had to mean one thing: Camelot Enterprise were on their way to Albion.

Merlin had wasted no time, rushed towards his father and mother, who were summoning the druids. There were too many druids to get past to stand on the platform with them, and pushing through the crowd would no doubt produce unnecessary attention. Merlin’s eyes had drifted over towards Eisha and her new-born child resting in her arms. The very sight of one of life’s greatest gifts juxtaposed against the thought of what was impending sickened him.

Without hesitation, his father had raised his palm and gestured up towards the giant beacon – a primitive but nonetheless effective means of communication for the druid clans. Apparently, even _their_ world had used this method of signalling once upon a time, before it was consumed with crushing forests and smothering the earth’s face with unattractive concrete blocks. His father uttered a few words and the beacon burst into vivid flame.

“People of Ealdor,” Balinor said softly, voice carrying through the immaculate silence. Merlin wondered if he could ever gather a crowd’s attention in this manner. “We must stay calm. Serepolis have sent us a message, stating that Camelot Enterprise are about to break down Albion’s barrier.”

Suddenly, his voice was lost in the murmurs and gasps of the clan. Merlin took this opportunity to slip out of the crowd, making his way into the dark forests. Climbing up onto one of the trees daintily, Merlin embarked on his mission to the top of the archaic giant. Merlin was good at climbing, especially at a quick pace, he assumed it was his agile, lanky body that gave him the vantage point for this – most people just told him that his powers as Emrys must encompass more than magic; Will was the only one who was _joking_ about that, everybody else had been deadly serious _._ Speaking of Will…

“Oi! You bastard!” a voice chimed from below.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin felt his lips upturn. Of course he’d have to follow Merlin out of the clan. Merlin noted to himself Will’s skills in espionage had improved; it was only two weeks ago that Merlin had caught him out in the first five seconds of sneaking.

“ _Will!”_ another voice exclaimed in mortification at the language, thumping the man in the arm forcefully.

Recognising that pure voice also, Merlin glanced down to see none other than William and Gwenevere standing at the bottom of the tree. Biting back a fond laugh, Merlin lowered himself a little, indicating that he was not going to start climbing _all over_ again because that would just waste _time._ And this was something he _had_ to see. Gwenevere adjusted the delicate silk headband before lifting her eyes to Merlin.

“Where are we going?” she asked, digging her hand into the hollow of the tree to pull herself up against the wood; her white flowing gown blew in the light breeze.

Merlin chuckled a little at the usage of ‘we’, he really should have known better than trying to get away by himself. Since his escapade to rescue Gaius, he was positive his mother had instructed Will and Gwen to vigilantly watch his every move like hawks. However, it wasn’t like that was any different to beforehand – his two best friends were naturally protective and caring, wanting to be involved with as many of Merlin’s frequent quests as possible. Sometimes Merlin appreciated his friends’ passion for adventure; sometimes he just wanted to be alone and relish in rare solitude. That was why they had come up with ‘the Lake agreement’; if Merlin was _ever_ seen to be heading to the lake, it gestured he wanted time to himself.

Not wanting to miss the spectacle about to take place, Merlin began climbing again at a faster pace, diminishing in size to the pair below by the second.

“This is one of the tallest trees in Albion.” He called back simply, as if that explained everything and his actions.

Exchanging a confused glance with Gwenevere, Will also began his climb up the tree. Neither Gwen or Will were exceptional climbers, and it would no doubt take them twice as long to reach the top of the tree than it would for Merlin. The fact that this was one of the tallest trees in Albion made Will huff irately. He struggled to understand how Merlin _enjoyed_ this tiresome, _boring_ activity. Another unfamiliar buzzing echoed throughout the night, which was eerily quiet. It was unusual not to hear the birds singing, the nocturnal beasts howling or even some aspect of life. It was only now it dawned that there was not a _single_ sound in all of Ealdor. They could sense something was changing too, Merlin figured.

“I hate you!” William’s voice rang through the still forest. “Stupid _tree-hugger.”_

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Merlin watched the pair still pathetically climbing the lower segment of the ginormous tree. It was going to take them until _dawn_ at this rate. A raw laugh tore from his lips, teeth exposed in a grin; perhaps some encouragement would aid them.

“Come on…you’re almost there.” Merlin shouted down teasingly, chuckling once more as his magic sensed Gwen sighing, clearly apathetic with his sarcastic comment.

Hauling himself onto a sturdy branch at the very top of the tree, Merlin glanced out into the sight around. Many of the trees had reached their peak significantly lower, allowing this particular tree to have a fantastic panoramic view of a vast majority of Albion. Clinging to the trunk, he bravely stretched a hand out, caressing the wind that gently shook the lighter branch his arm was entangled in. The view up here was unparalleled in beauty. From here, Merlin was able to distinguish the burning beacons across Albion; some faint enough to be small specs, others glowing on the horizon, and a few much closer. This staggering view of these masses of fire, lighting up parts of the landscape was truly breath-taking – and then the _reasoning_ for all of this clouded the magnificence.

The Albion barrier was about to disintegrate, broken down by magic extracted from tortured druids, wreck souls, missing brothers and sisters. All of this extracted magic was meshed into a large exploitation of druid powers, and used against their sacred world through brute force and crazed obsession. Studying the night sky sprayed with an array of stars, Merlin frowned. The barrier was one of the oldest parts of Albion. The _æmryš_ spoke of its creation…it was almost as old as human civilisation. It was forged by a powerful collection of druids: The Naiimen. These three sorcerers had weaved together their ancient expertise, wielding a great shield for the land in hope that the future druids would be able to build their settlement here without fear or exile.

Now it was about to be destroyed.

Though, there was a story – a folklore tale of some kind – that Merlin had once been told by his optimistic mother. The Naiimen spell had been inscribed on a rock, deep in the forests of Albion. It would take another three sorcerers of similar decree and power to re-cast the sacred spell. But in order to even _find_ the location of the rock, their true virtue and intentions would have be tested through time and fate. Merlin brushed aside this old tale gently, druid folklore was always fascinating, but really was full of nonsense at times. How _anybody_ could match up to the Naiimen and conjure such a complex spell was beyond him; druids liked to be pleasantly hopeful.

The buzzing sound had grown louder and more intense during the past ten minutes. Merlin clung tighter to the tips of the tree, grateful that the evening was relatively cloudless one. At their altitude, a cloudy night would have hindered his view of this event. The sound of panting and long inhaled breaths entered his ears, _finally._ Averting his eyes for a moment, Merlin reached a hand downwards to Gwenevere. Smiling in relief at the help, she clutched his hand as he pulled her up onto the branch. William was adamant on doing this by himself, stubbornly and _clumsily_ hurling himself a number of times at the final hurdle. Eyes crinkled a little in amusement, Merlin glanced over at his friend and outstretched a hand.

Reluctantly, Will took the offer, and perched himself next to Merlin on the top of the tree. Leaning forwards curiously, Gwen examined the horizon in exhilaration.

“I’ve never seen _anything_ like this before.” She exclaimed rather breathlessly; whether this was from the epic climb or general awe was unknown. Merlin cautiously rested a hand on her waist for support, fully aware that she was less secure on the branch than he.

Will gaped a little, not wanting to show _too_ much satisfaction at the sight. Sharing a look with Merlin, he nodded appreciatively.

“Merl knows all the hot spots of Ealdor.” He said.

“You’ll have to show us more of them rather than keeping them all to yourself!” Gwen smiled easily, squeezing Merlin’s hip in a juvenile manner.

Pouting at her, Merlin met her playful eyes unable to resist replying light-heartedly.

“I doubt I _could_ show you two after that horrific climbing you two demonstrated.”

Will scoffed into the distance, eyes meeting the alluring night sky, the woman on Merlin’s other side shot him a pseudo-glare, before allowing humour to metamorphose into the imminent severity. She had heard Balinor’s words; they _all had._ Camelot Enterprise was approaching. Coming from that world herself, spending twenty-two years of her life there, she was fully aware of what Uther Pendragon was capable of. The prejudice displayed against druids on a daily basis was a primary concern for her. In the four years she had lived here, Albion had become her whole life – there _was_ no life before Albion, before the druids, before _Merlin_ and Will and Ealdor. She wasn’t going to let _anyone_ take away her family, her friends.

Noticing Gwen’s fierce expression, Merlin linked their fingers together loosely, earning a weak smile from his friend. He didn’t want his friends to be scared, fearful for whatever was to come. He had _seen_ through the Crystals the future of Albion all through a confusing spectrum of blurred images, distorted voices and deformed pictures; the memory of this bewildering experience was enough to scare _himself._ Plastering confidence over himself lightly, he turned to a curiously silent Will, then back to Gwen.

“Hey,” he cooed to the pair lost in thought. “we’ll be okay. Think of all that Albion has overcome before. All those dreadful wars in the Frenhart Dynasty, all of our suffering when there were-”

“-gee thanks Merlin, you’re really making me feel better about this.” Will muttered flippantly, bringing his own hands together tightly in irritation.

“-I haven’t _finished_ yet William.” Merlin replied calmly, the apparent wisdom he retained inside trickled out slowly. “We- the druids have faced a lot, we’ve _always_ managed to win over war and hate with peace and clemency.”

Admiring the sky, Merlin’s eyes lit up with remorse. He had seen their world, the bleakness of their lives; their aggressive nature towards magic. It should have repulsed him. Yet all he had were his father’s words, and a twinge of sadness.

“Remember these people come not for _us,_ but to save their dying world.” 

His friends stirred a little beside him, uneasy.

“If that’s sympathy I detect for them Merlin, then don’t waste your breath. We had many chances to change our ways, alter our future.” Gwen whispered poignantly, eyes watery.

Squeezing her hand, Merlin grimaced. Beside him, Will attempted a different approach at consoling their minds.

“He’s _Emrys-_ the most powerful wizard of _all time.”_ He boasted, patting his friend proudly on the shoulder. “We have nothing to worry about Gwen, the moment they realise what _Emrys_ can do - they’ll run back to their world.” 

 _Or they’ll try and kidnap me to take my magic_ Merlin thought to himself, making sure he blocked his mind from their telepathic waves. A few months ago, Merlin would have smirked at Will’s immature comment, pretending that Emrys was his estranged twin. A few weeks ago, Merlin would have rolled his eyes, still in blatant denial of his destiny, and too busy stewing over the events of the lab to fully process anything else. But now, standing on the tallest tree in Ealdor, awaiting the barrier to decease, Merlin’s magic was being a painful realist about the situation. Now more than ever people were going to _look up to him,_ try and find some element of safety from him. He had to lead by example.

Emrys was _the central beacon,_ the pivotal force that was supposed to protect and unite the land once again in a time of great need. Merlin just prayed that this was not the time. He wasn’t ready for _any of this._ He wasn’t ready to accept that Arthur Pendragon was somehow entwined in his destiny either. The notion that their paths would collide soon made him a little queasy.

Merlin was broken out of his pensive state at the blinding light that flashed through the sky. A foreign sound reverberated, and the barrier in all its greatness suddenly became _very_ visible. It was more radiant and spectacular than he had ever dreamt. The void of spewing colours, connected in a fashion resembling skilled crafting of silk woven together. The colours were slowly fading into a bizarre crackling sound, vast amounts of the barrier becoming transparent. What lay on the other side of the barrier emanated curiosity, fear and shock across the whole of Albion, Merlin’s magic _felt_ the extent of these shared emotions. There was an enormous vessel, with artificial wings and body built from some kind of alloy, aiming a white beam of light at the barrier: concentrated magic.

“What _is_ that thing?” he asked in confusion, unable to recall what Gaius had called these large man-made machines. They had so many different names for their creations.

Quickly glancing over at Merlin, Gwen bit her lip.

“It’s a plane.” Her tone suggested she was hiding something, but Merlin was too enraptured by the sight to coax it out of her.

The ‘plane’ was a vast machine, which no doubt carried a substantial amount of people. It had two strong wings, like a bird. It was painted black, almost invisible to the non-magic eye against the night sky. And it was the source of that deafening buzzing. Behind it, were lots of other ‘planes’. But these ones were smaller and were also attacking the shield with the rays. The barrier began to crackle louder, dissipating under the intensity of the assault. Once the first hole had been made in the barrier, it seemed the rest of it was instantly weakened. Merlin could only watch with wide eyes as the barrier across the whole of Albion crumbled into oblivion. The planes hesitantly poked their noses forwards into the new world. Once it was established they were able to pass, the large group descended a little, almost to the altitude Merlin, Gwen and Will were on the top of the tree.

“GET DOWN!” Merlin cried in horror, pushing his friends down into the shelter of the tree that began to shake violently.

The three friends clung to each other desperately, feeling their clothing rattle against their skin; a deep penetrating buzz soared through their ear drums. Slamming his eyes shut, Merlin gripped onto the tree trunk harder, heart racing. Who knew what would happen if they let go, would they be sucked into the machines’ strange core? After an intense minute of blaring sound, violent shaking and confusion, the sound of the planes faded into the distance. Merlin was the first to open his eyes, leaping urgently into action. Jumping back onto the tips of the giant tree, his eyes wavered over the planes that seemed to be descending in a large clearing to the left of Serepolis; also to the North of Ealdor.

Turning to Will, who was staring blankly at the landing site, Merlin exhaled deeply. Gwenevere beside him mirrored his actions, shoulders slumping a little in exhaustion, overwhelmed by this experience.

“I can’t believe they actually broke the barrier.” Will breathed quietly, meeting eyes with an engrossed Gwen.

“Well, they’ve been harbouring _a lot_ of magic,” Merlin replied slowly, eyes locked on the black metallic machines in the far distance, mere specs – but still alarmingly close compared to wherever else in Albion they could have landed. He half expected his magic to throb from the presence of Arthur Pendragon. That’s when Merlin realised – rather bewildered – he could sense _no_ Pendragon here at all. His magic wretched unpleasantly – but _she_ was here, he knew that much.

_Merlin._

The voice of his father’s resonated through his head sharply.

_Yes father._

“Do you think more of them will come?” Will asked, voice laced in disgust.

Feigning composure, Merlin skewed his lips together. His father’s voice echoed in his head.

_Meet me by the Lake._

For reasons he couldn’t understand, Merlin felt a rush of excitement pulsate through him. He knew his father and his subliminal messages, this one inevitably meant: _we’re going to go and spy on the new arrivals._

“We should go back to Ealdor,” he began, lowering himself onto the branch below. “they’re not going to be of any concern for a while.”

Obediently, Gwenevere followed Merlin, eyes casting once more over to the planes. Will stared up at the unveiled sky, reminiscing the sight of the barrier. Then he too began to follow Merlin quietly down the tree and back to Ealdor.

Nobody said a word on the walk back.

**♦☼♦**

“I sensed her.” Merlin muttered in a small whisper beside his father who remained silent.

The pair of them were sitting on a branch from one of the tall trees surrounding the clearing. The obscurity of the night gave them the advantage of remaining concealed and disregarded. There was a large building made of stone, far larger than any druid temple or home. The plan had landed in the tarmacked area outside the base but still inside the protection of the towering black gates. Swallowing-hard, Merlin studied the blonde woman with narrowed eyes. She was dressed in casual wear from the other world, the large, piercing eyes savagely striking down anyone who dared look her in the eye. From the plane large boxes were being unloaded, full of unknown items and objects. They appeared to be of great importance, because the people carrying them were loaded with all sorts of peculiar weapons and devices.

“And I.” Balinor eventually sighed, running a hand down his beard pensively. “Her evil is difficult to overlook.”

Part of Merlin desperately prayed Gaius would suddenly appear from the plane. A dull ache grew in his chest as he watched the people leave the plane, none of them were Gaius. But then again, he thought curiously. There was _no_ sign of the young Pendragon, Arthur, or his father for that matter. Turning to Balinor, eyes twinkling pensively, he frowned.

“Why do you think Uther and Arthur aren’t here yet?” he failed to resonate his concerns about Gaius, a sore swell of upset expanding in his throat.

“Morgause knows the most about Albion.” Balinor concluded with a neutral expression, his face resembled hard, granite stone. “They’ve probably sent her to test the ground, make sure it’s safe for them to arrive.”

“Do you think they’ll bring Gaius with them?” Merlin’s words gushed from his mouth suddenly without warning, the swell in his throat causing him great discomfort.

There was not a day that went by Merlin didn’t think about the old wise man, about what he had seen in laboratory. Every night before bed, he fell to his knees dejectedly and said a prayer to Gods he had never had a reason to believe in. Some nights, when he was fatigued and drowsy, he felt the wind caress his hair, a soothing voice of assurance carrying through it. He didn’t think much of it. If the supposed Gods wanted to give him a message, he would have hoped they’d have the decency to do it themselves.

“Gaius is strong.” His father replied, steering the conversation away from the proposed topic subtly. “He will not break under the tyranny of Uther-”

The swell in Merlin’s throat burst, bringing with it a wave of overwhelming nausea.

“-We have to do _something_ Father.”

“The labs are dangerous son. Right now, the best we can do is pray for Gaius. We have bigger problems at hand here.”

Balinor bowed his head for moment, clearly attempting to conceal his own upset at the grave situation. That was the burden of being a leader; there were times when you were faced with decisions where you had to clear out bias, no matter who it was. Merlin, shaking his head in despair, still failed to understand the weight of his decisions. He knew his son sometimes believed his calm persona indicated a lack of sympathy or care. In reality, it was quite the opposite.

“But-”

“-Merlin, the Naiimen barrier has just been broken. Camelot Enterprise is rapidly approaching our land. This concerns the _whole_ of Albion, everything we’ve ever known is at stake.”

The severity of his father’s words stunned Merlin into silence. They remained in the eerie silence for the next hour, watching the base with interested eyes. Neither of them spoke. But when Merlin glanced over at his father, he spotted the apprehensive glint in those eyes before he had the chance to disguise it. The raw emotion was enough to send a nervous flutter through his own body. Sighing, he adjusted his position on the branch.

“So what happens now?” he asked in a whisper, almost too quiet for his father to hear.

At first he thought his father hadn’t heard him, and was about repeat his words. However his father turned to him slowly, an unreadable expression plastered over his face.

“This is out of our hands. All we can do now is wait for the Pendragon’s.”

Funny- Merlin had never liked waiting, especially for impending trouble and _dollopheads._


	7. Chapter 7

The orange sun was still rising over the horizon, casting elaborate shadows over Camelot Airport. It was 4.30am. The cloudless sky had not yet shaken its honeyed, golden crescent, creating a hue of colours merging into the bright azure midway. Already, the air was pocketed with heat, predicting the beautiful, hot day that was about to unfold. Along the runways of Camelot airport, planes and aircraft were stationed, people flocking towards them to stock up supplies, luggage, and to load on people for the most historic flight ever. It was a _very_ important day after all. It had taken Morgause and her team three intensive weeks to build a base suitable for dwelling in the realm of Albion relatively safely. Now the temporary base was completed, members of the Albion Project could finally get to see Albion with their own eyes. Uther had been rather adamant that his principal team would be the first to fly out, and land in the new world to meet him at the base.

Excitement, anxiety and curiosity were the key emotions spreading contagiously through the air, the mixture resulting in some feeling dizzy; Leon – complexion a little pale - had been the first to excuse himself and get some water from the reception. Gwaine had laughed at this demonstration of candid enthusiasm but wasn’t able to retain his _own_ giddy gait for long, striding clumsily into a rather _passive_ Morgana at the door to the runway. It appeared even she had cast aside her concerns on the ethical issues with the project, allowing curiosity to overcome her.

The aircraft that was to take the main staff over resembled more of a military machine than a vessel built for the purpose of comfort and luxury, Arthur observed silently to himself. The black leather seats imitated the look of a dangerous roller coaster ride with a safety mechanism that was pulled down over the shoulders and head. The aircraft was low-lying, that appeared apparent by its size, only carrying about twenty people maximum with a murky green paint covering the inside and out; camouflage. His father was never one to spend too much on these kinds of things when it came to a bigger business picture. Hauling his suitcase into the luggage compartment, Arthur placed his sunglasses on his head, spending a moment revelling in the glorious sunshine. Surely the weather had to by synonymous to the outcome of the day. They were _going to Albion!_ Arthur had to hide his grin when Leon returned beaming radiantly; because _honestly,_ his father would probably not be happy with the thought of his son associating magic with positivity and wonder.

The beginning of this project may well be exhilarating and adventurous. However, Arthur found it increasingly difficult to set aside his father’s secret agenda, the burden placed upon his own shoulders. In reality, the end was going to be bleak and dark, leaving a scar on humanity, and a psychological trauma that would no doubt haunt the druids – and himself - for all eternity. He had spent the whole of last night awake, breath rapid and heart thumping against his chest desperately trying to thrum away the words of his father.

What kind of person was Arthur Pendragon if he allowed any of this to actually unfold? What kind of person was he to keep such things to himself…to allow others to walk into this dangerous business seaming with desire for imperialism and a constant quest for power that was embedded beneath everything Camelot did? Once these thoughts had surrounded his mind, there was no escape. Arthur had dwelled in silence over these questions for a total of two hours, forty-five minutes. On the forty-sixth minute of 2am – two _hours_ before he had to be at the ruddy airport – he brutally raged a battalion against this barricade of negativity around him.

He should feel _honoured –_ he would be one of a select few to see Albion, for the _first time in history!_ For some reason, this prevailing _honour_ shrivelled up emphatically. It was then Arthur resolved to the next phase of defence: distraction. This had taken up the vast majority of his night, in fear that succumbing to sleep would give the questions an unfair advantaged. He had spent this ‘distraction’ time strangely fascinated with something he should _not_ have found fascinating at all: The Emrys. Borrowing Leon’s copy of the Emrys Scriptures for a few days to ‘gain some knowledge on what challenges the company may face’ – definitely _not_ intrigue – had filled Arthur with unexpected pleasure.

It was one of the best things he’d ever read.

Part of him was naïve enough to assume some prophetic druid had foretold the event of Camelot going to Albion; the collision of races and beliefs; the imminent pain and suffering. There was no trace of such a conflict, though many peculiar verses made reference to the ‘Lion with a Dragon’s heart’. What exactly _that_ meant he did not know. He knew _one_ thing: The Emrys was a much longer compilation of texts than Arthur Pendragon had ever anticipated. He had gotten five pages in and almost fallen asleep at the sheer intensity and cryptic messages of the words. Although, there were a few things that had intrigued Arthur, instigated his imagination: the White Dragon of Albion, the Naiimen and of course _Emrys,_ the most enigmatic and powerful figure in all of these depictions. 

The fact that Emrys had a whole sacred druid book equal of stature and significance to the Christian bible indicated the warlock’s power alone. Warlock – Arthur had recently learnt the difference between a druid and a warlock. According to the scriptures, Emrys was not born _with_ magic inside like the rest of the druids, he was – _is_ magic. Arthur wondered why Morgause – or his father - had made no effort to capture this ‘Emrys’ and try to extract _his_ power – surely all of his magic would supply the _world_ with energy and sustainable life for _centuries-_

“-Have you listened to a single word I’ve said, dollophead?”

With a dazed expression framing his face, finally evading his mind’s labyrinth of thought, Arthur lifted his sunglasses from his eyes before wiping them with his shirt. Squinting, his eyes distinguished a rugged man in a simple white shirt and faded jeans, eyebrows raised. Before putting the sunglasses back on, Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically at his companion.

“I thought you would have been mature enough to let that slip now _Gwaine,_ but clearly you must have grown into your shoe size.” In reality, Arthur knew Gwaine of _all_ people would _never_ let John Smith’s brave verbal assault be forgotten.

Laughing good-heartedly, Gwaine patted the blonde man on the shoulder.

“Oh Arthur,” he grinned as the pair began to walk up the gentle slant to the aircraft seats. “I miss your sense of humour, where’s it gone?”

A hollow chuckled escaped Arthur’s lips, dense enough to be perceived as a gesture of genuine amusement; though that was far from the truth. Sometimes, Arthur wondered this too. The days before Camelot had been so easy; his smiles were carefree, his eyes were brighter. Gwaine and Morgana were the only two people who had known him long enough to recognise that his office jokes and laughs were forced ninety-six percent of the time. Morgana had made it her mission to come up with _exact_ statistics in order to prove something to Arthur. _Apparently_ , he smiled eighty-two percent less than he had five years ago. 

“How can I have a sense of humour when I’m surrounded by imbeciles such as yourself?” he replied lightly, a small smile dusting his face.

Gwaine shot the blonde man a smirk as he sat down in one of the black leather seats, conveniently with a huge glass window in front. There was no way they were going to miss out on the first look over Albion.

“That’s more like it.”

Sitting to the right of Gwaine, Arthur began to buckle himself in. An unpleasant shiver ran up his spine- _god,_ he really had to get over this one day. Hands shaking a little, he managed to clip the elaborate seatbelt around his chest, pulling the harness down over his shoulders. The fact that he was secured merely agitated him further.

“Still scared of flying?” another voice chimed.

Pursing his lips together, Arthur turned his head to his right, meeting the raven-haired women’s mischievous eyes. He was unsure how she managed to look quite so radiant this early in the morning, but did not voice his complements. She perched herself in the seat next to him comfortably, tilting her head for good measure – or more for the case of immature teasing.

“Oh how you never fail to make me feel better in these situations Morgana.” Arthur groaned, letting his head fall back against the headrest with an audible sigh.

To say he was _scared_ of flying was totally overdramatic and untrue. He dreaded the thought of Cedric or Valiant overhearing the demented woman. Besides – he wasn’t _scared._ It just made him feel really sick and his heart raced and all the blood in his body rushed to his head and all his thoughts became a mesh of panic and anxiety...which did _not_ mean he got scared. A hand gently rested over his.

“Just _relax,”_ she cooed rather soothingly. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur glanced at her sceptically. Then, abruptly came the predicted punch-line.

“But if you’re going to puke, just make sure you get out your seat and aim _really_ hard for Valiant and Cedric. Preferably their faces.”

Leon in the row behind threw his head back with a laugh, Gwaine following. Arthur shot Morgana a deadpan look, and then his lips morphed into a blinding grin.

“Ha-ha! ... _Funny._ ” he exclaimed sarcastically, tone gesturing the opposite of amusement, and thus earning a scowl from Morgana.

Glancing over her shoulder at the two men, Arthur noticed their glares appeared to be concentrated on himself and the women beside him. He leant gently towards Morgana.

“I think they might have heard you.” He whispered.

Scoffing, the woman smirked malevolently.

“I couldn’t care less dear Arthur.”

Closing his eyes, Arthur felt the exhaustion of getting no sleep wash over him. It was going to be a _long_ couple of days. The flight alone was approximately eighteen hours in total, not including stop-off locations. The flight plan was Camelot to New York (six hours) and to spend the day resting in the enterprise’s hotel- Morgause had stressed that landing in Albion at _night_ was not an option with passengers on board. Then it was another ridiculous departure – this time an agonising 1am – to leave at 2am. It would be 1.30pm Camelot-time by the time they got to Albion.

But then, that was just until they got to _Albion-_ not Ealdor. The quickest way of getting to Albion was from the west; Ealdor and Serepolis were on the Eastern side of the huge continent (Arthur was still unsure what exactly Albion could be classified as. The satellite images revealed it was possibly twice the size of Australia). Though Arthur supposed he should be grateful they were on one of the most efficient aircraft.

Less than seventy years ago it would have taken around _eight hours_ to cross over Albion, now it was just under five. Not to mention no-one had any idea what kind of time-zone Albion was running on- did the magic have any impact on the days? It was then he realised how little they all knew about Albion…they were flying into the mouth of a new world, where just about anything could be possible. He hoped Albion was worth it.

A small tingling sensation inside reassured him it was going to be even more staggering than the photographs revealed in the initial meeting three weeks ago, and incomparable in its beauty. Now, eye closed and body beginning to relax into a state of slumber, Arthur could almost _picture_ the miraculous landscape…the endless expanse of forests, the mountains, the waterfalls, the desert plains, the-

“You’re not being boring and sleeping _already_ are you?” Morgana whined rather childishly beside him, shaking the blonde man. All thoughts of Albion fizzled out of his usually sedentary imagination. Beside her, a tanned handsome male chuckled audibly, watching the scene progress.

“Stop encouraging her Lance.” Arthur murmured lazily, resolute in keeping his eyes shut. If they were going to act like children, ignoring them was going to be the only way to actually _get_ some damn sleep.

“How could you question my honour?” the alleged ‘Lance’ replied; Arthur’s lips upturned subconsciously. Du Lac could act as _noble_ as he wanted, but Arthur could practically _see_ the humour intertwined in that voice leaping around in his mind and taunting him.

“Arthur, _don’t_ pretend that you don’t want to play I-spy.” Gwaine added with a grin, Leon _giggled_ from behind them. Yes. Giggled.

Sighing, Arthur reluctantly opened his eyes, only to shut them again as the intense beams of light filtering over the horizon reflected against the airport reception. Groaning, Arthur twisted his lips in discontent.

“…You know I’m going to thrash you all at I-spy when we get to Albion.” Leon’s voice sounded through Arthur’s ears, almost boasting in tone. Of course he was, bloody scholarly _geek._

A loud ping resonated through the small passenger area; the engines grew louder, suggesting take-off. A pre-recorded female voice sounded through the tannoy; nobody paid much attention to it. Though there was a resounding cheer from a few colleagues (notably Gwaine and Leon) when ‘destination: Albion’ echoed through the platform. Arthur made a vague noise in his throat when he felt Morgana nudge him for a response. A few moments later, when most of the people had settled down, the aircraft lifted off the ground, taking to the sky.

“If you’re _so_ sure about thrashing us all, best start making my points up now,” a mischievous dark-haired male said over the gentle humming. “I spy, with my _amazing eyes,_ something beginning with….C.”

Inhaling a large breath of air, Arthur attempted to succumb to the black abyss surrounding his eyes. He was unsure whether he would be able to take eighteen hours of this.

“Chairs?” the valiant Lancelot supplied the first answer.

Arthur wasn’t really sure whether chairs was the correct word, but wasn’t going to make any verbal contributions towards any of this.

“…These are more like _seats_ actually.” Leon spoke intelligently.

“Not really. Seats are comfy, chairs are more rigid.” Lancelot speculated, voice swathed in contemplation, no doubt trying to adjust himself into the chair, or seat- _whatever._ If Arthur had his opened his eyes, he would have rolled is eyes at this. Surely Uther should have known mixing logical and broadminded people together for eighteen hours was a mistake.

“A chair has four legs. These have _no_ legs, hence this is a seat.“

Lancelot audibly sighed at this explanation.

“Not _all_ chairs have legs, in fact some have nolegs so-”

“-But the human brain associates the word chair with four legs-“

“-Maybe _yours_ does but-”

“-Why are you both so pedantic?” Gwaine sniggered, clearly not that bothered whether he was sitting in a chair or a seat.

“According to my phone,” Arthur heard the woman beside him laugh in amusement. “The definition for a chair _is_ a seat.”           

Arthur could feel himself smirking unwillingly at the ridiculous nature of this very conversation. His smirk faded when Morgana’s voice rang out.

“What do _you_ think Arthur?”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that his companions were all looking at him, waiting for a response. Really, Arthur Pendragon should have known he wasn’t going to get _any_ sleep sitting next to a harpy, a demon, a _knight_ , and a secret druidian.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur had no sleep on the journey to New York.

But it seemed everybody _else_ had gotten _more_ than enough.

For some unknown reason, everyone had secretly designated him as the one person to keep the other people who were _also_ awake occupied. His colleague’s – and friend’s- thought they were _so funny._ Six hours had been spent on pointless conversations he was simply too tired to remember, I-spy, angry birds on Morgana’s phone, and Gwaine’s immature attempts to aggravate Cedric and Valiant. As a result, Arthur was not surprised when stumbling towards the mirror in his _private_ room to find his eyes were bloodshot, and he had some pretty impressive bags going on too. Rubbing a hand down his face, Arthur sighed. He pulled out Morgana’s copy of the Emrys, and fell onto the mattress with ease. 

_ _

It only took a few lines before he slipped into the world of dreams, where there were dragons, magic, and for reasons he could not understand- the face of John Smith.

**♦☼♦**

Whilst boarding the flight in the early morning, it had become apparent that the others had not spent their day in New York as wisely as he had. Rather than catching up on comfortable sleep, most of them had resorted to sightseeing and even _the bars_ (Gwaine somehow managed to get back onto the aircraft despite having been completely intoxicated a few hours prior). Within an hour of the flight, Leon, Morgana, Gwaine and Lancelot had succumb to a deep slumber, allowing Arthur to sit in his own company, dwell on his own thoughts and stew over his father’s intentions. After hours of silence and peculiar solitude, the tannoy broke Arthur’s continuous stream of thought: _Albion now approaching._

Unable to control his own curiosity, Arthur released his harness and seatbelt, rushing towards the window avidly. All his life, he’d never _really_ been anywhere other than cities full of buildings and man-made mechanisms. Any concerns over his father’s agenda and the mission faded instantly. Finally, the supressed excitement burst as he gazed down and saw the vast expanse of land. It was still too far away to fully distinguish, about the size of a hand from here. Around the Western side of the island they were approaching, Arthur noticed a much lighter blue circling the pure white sand; a reef. It was a reef _far_ more extensive than the Great Barrier ever was, before coral bleaching and chemical spillages completely destroyed it. The hues of blue blended together in an array of vibrancy, small islands were scattered across the whole of the Western coastline.

The whole landscape was lush in verdant vegetation, an untouched haven of forest – aside from an arid-looking area to the Northeast, almost small enough to overlook from this distance. But Arthur’s eyes were hungrily drinking in every detail he could. There was an astonishing collection of mountains to the South, large enough to be defined from this altitude. The trees, he noted silently to himself, were also _huge._ Many in the Eastern region of Albion appeared to be challenging the Mountains’ height; Nature’s mega-structures. Then to the Northwest, he was able to pick out an area of grassy, giant hills that most likely unfolded into profound valleys. This whole new landscape was enough to send him into a gaping, fascinated child on a fieldtrip. He was unaware he had pressed his hand to the glass, breath steaming up the glass a little.

There was _so much_ to take in. Yet it wasn’t _enough._

If Albion was this brilliant from this _distance-_ then it was going to be a truly magical sight closer up.

“Don’t wake us then…-t-” the voice of Morgana huffed from beside him, quickly fading into a spluttering of awe at the sight.

Eyes wide, she studied the landscape fervently, in a similar manner Arthur had previously done. She gasped in appreciation, turning to him with a smile.

“It’s _beautiful.”_

Humming in agreement, the blonde male felt a genuine smile paint his lips. It was a sight worth marvelling over. Leon was the next to wake up from his slumber. The moment his hazy vision detected two people by the window, he didn’t hesitate. Practically throwing himself at the window, he laughed in mirth. Arthur glanced over fondly at his enthusiastic friend.

“Oh _my god_!” Leon breathed; another hysterical laugh escaped his lips as his hands met the glass.  Morgana exchanged an amused glance with Arthur at the man’s giddy expression.

“Albion!” his voice grew abruptly louder, delight bubbling through every syllable. “I can’t believe it. It’s even better than how the Emrys describes it!” Pulling out his glasses, Leon grinned instinctively as his eyes met the Western side.

“Oh! Look, Morgana,” he instinctively grabbed her hand, resulting in surprising acceptance. “That’s _the_ Saerion reef, can you see it?”

“Yes. It’s wonderful.” She replied, quickly sparing a broad smile for the man before studying the world once more.

Arthur cast his eyes back to the enormous aqua strip of sea surrounding the Western side, ignoring the pair beside him. He failed to understand their complex relationship. It was one of those subjects he was forbidden to mention to Leon, and _especially_ to Morgana. Turning his full attention to the reef, he smiled. Saerion….even the _name_ sounded magical. He wondered what kind of creatures lived there? Were they magical too? Suddenly Leon’s head turned elsewhere and he pointed once more.

“The Mountains of Ghedent- twice as big as _the Himalayas_! The _Perilous Lands_. It’s all here.”

And then the initial excitement morphed into indulgence bliss. The three of them stood silently, captivated by the sight of Albion. The satellite images really had _not_ done it any justice at all. This sight was something you had to witness with your own eyes to truly appreciate. Arthur was unsure how he could even put any of this into _words._ It was inspirational; mesmerizing. Nothing in _their_ world could compete with this, possibly once in the glorious past, but not now.

Twenty minutes sped past in what felt like no time; the aircraft had grown significantly closer to Albion, almost at the edge of the Western side. Features previously concealed due to distance now became more visible. The reef, now in focus, appeared to actually be _two reefs_. Leon was more overwhelmed and startled by this than both Arthur and Morgana. He explained with his specialist knowledge that there wasa Fringing Reef that spread across the _whole_ of the Western Coastline, and a little further out – divided by a navy streak of deep sea – was a colossal Barrier Reef. 

The Western coastline became observable, revealing that the sand was all white against a crystal clear lagoon formation around the reef. That was aside from an interesting splodge of crimson sand to the North against a mass of Aztec Sandstone (according to the great master of anything natural: Leon) where the reef ended and was replaced with a turquoise waters. Beside this crimson beach, Arthur noticed a remarkable transition in sea colour from the turquoise to a brown colour above the red sand.

“You could have _woken us_ too!” Lancelot exclaimed from behind them, finally having woken up.

He quickly shook Gwaine’s arm to wake up before securing a spot at the window. Opening his eyes slowly, Gwaine stood up before regaining full composure, resulting in a clumsy collision with the floor. Luckily, his companions seemed too entranced with the view outside to notice.  Standing, the rugged brunette pushed his way towards the window, resulting in the five of them having to huddle a little closer together.

“Well, isn’t this all _swell.”_ Gwaine admitted, trying to act nonchalant but unable to resist the lure of the brilliant new world.

“Leon,” Lancelot breathed, eyes locked on Albion. “Just _look_ at that mountain range to the South.”

Peeling his eyes slowly away from the Saerion Reef, Arthur studied the Mountains of Ghedent. It covered almost _half_ of the Southern Region, some of the peaks alarmingly high- higher than he thought was _possible_ for mountains to be. A vast majority of the mountains were dusted white, elaborate patterns created by the folds. Part of him yearned for the aircraft to pick up more speed, and get to their destination; South of Dresdentian, West of Ealdor, and North-West of Serepolis. Yet another part of him wanted the aircraft to stop and allow him to bask in the Western Coastline before flying over the rest of the land. Ironic how when his father had told him the journey over Albion _itself_ would be short of six hours he had been unimpressed. Now he was here, he wished it were a _longer_ journey _-_ because how could you possibly begin to understand this new world and see all of its miraculous landscapes in _five_ and a bit hours?

“This is a whole new world.” The tanned man beside Gwaine muttered, and _really_ he should have chosen his words a little more carefully because the mischievous man was already smirking.

“Quoting Disney now, are we _princess?”_ he responded, resulting in a scattering of light-hearted chuckles, Arthur included.

Immediately, he refrained from expressing his amusement. He feared the moment they landed that all of this happiness would dissolve into urgency, his mission would begin- and the anxiety caged inside would no doubt take over him. Uther Pendragon would not be enthralled to say the least to hear Arthur had spent the entire journey over Albion gaping and letting his _imagination_ of all things run course. This was an important business trip, not a holiday. Reluctantly, Arthur tore his eyes from the sight, and sat back in his seat, in a similar fashion to Cedric, Valiant and their team of employees. If he was to be taken seriously in all of this, he needed to act less like a ‘princess’ and resolve to passing time a different way.

Noticing his abrupt retreat, Morgana released Leon’s hand, walking back to Arthur. Folding her arms over her chest, she waited expectantly for his explanation; none came.

“This better not be about _Uther.”_ She said gesturing towards him, a scowl threatening to overcome her glowing features.

Sighing, Arthur averted his eyes, pulling out a dreary but _necessary_ book (the handbook for the Albion Project) from one of his bags.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stated bluntly, reaching for his reading glasses.

“ _Arthur-”_ she began sternly.

“-I’m fine.” he protested, opening the handbook to the folded back page whilst hoisting his glasses onto his head. She continued stubbornly, sitting beside him.

“Just because you’re _his son,_ it doesn’t mean you have to stop enjoying yourself and think about work _every second of the day._ ”

Feigning ignorance, Arthur skimmed over the last paragraph of the page and turned it over intently, reaching the next chapter. He could practically _feel_ the venomous glare thrown his way from the right.

“Let me know when you can see Ealdor.” He concluded dismissively, not lifting his eyes from the page.

**♦☼♦**

“ _Arthur_ ,”a voice hissed, seemingly from within the burning forests. It didn’t sound like they were in pain, just…urgent.

_All his fault. He led them here._

“Arthur.” The ground began to shake violently, throwing the remaining druids to their knees. He toppled down with them, unable to stand. But no bones were broken, _he_ was broken. The ground shook more intensely, trees collapsing across the charred landscape.

_It’s all gone. All gone._

I’m so sorry; I never meant to bring this upon you.

I’m sorry.

I’m _so, so_ sorry-

“-Arthur!” The voice echoed over the landscape, dragging him upwards into the skies and then - abruptly, Arthur opened his eyes, breathing rapid. Glancing down, he released the handbook clenched in his hands. The raven-haired beauty in front of him maintained a look of concern for a split second, then her lips tugged into a small smile.

“Come on, you can see Ealdor from here.”

Getting up, Arthur removed his glasses slowly. Lance was right; those _chairs_ (or seats) were not comfortable at all, particularly for a long duration of time. He held a hand to his lower back, stretching out his muscles gently.

“Arthur,” Leon said in exasperation, not tearing his eyes from the window. “I can’t _believe_ you missed the great waterfall of Retriax!”

Morgana allowed her façade to slip, a fond smile framing her lips at the memory, and possibly something else too that Arthur couldn’t put his finger on.

“It was _more_ than great.” Gwaine contributed with humour, pleased when he received an amused glance from Lancelot.

Trudging towards the window with a yawn, rather stunned to find that nobody seemed to have moved a _muscle_ for the past however-many hours, Arthur gazed out into the horizon of forests, and forests…and _more_ forests. The land was vibrant and green, full of vegetation for as far as the eye could see. Well _almost_ everything was vibrant and green. Not too far ahead was a large concrete building with a tarmacked surrounding area, centred in a clearing in the midst of the forest; the Camelot base.

It looked seemingly out of place in this beautiful world. Arthur felt slightly _saddened_ by the fact that this building, its perimeter enclosed by thick black gates, was to be his temporary home for the next few months as opposed to the wondrous landscape around. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur frowned. The base was now the focal point of the large windows, but he wasn’t _looking_ for that. The aircraft was too low, descending down to meet the grass; the trees nearby were tall enough to obscure the horizons. 

“Looks like I woke up a minute too late.” Arthur sighed, attempting to mask his disappointment at missing the view of the three settlements and the _Crystal Cave._

“Don’t worry Arthur,” Leon chimed brightly. “On our first fieldtrip we’ll be heading towards Ealdor. The tree structures and ecology seem absolutely _fascinating_ in this region.”

He heard Cedric and Valiant snickering from behind the group. Pressing his fists to his side, Arthur nodded. He made no attempt to reply. Despite his awareness of _their_ reaction, it didn’t actually matter what _they_ thought. Yes- he was working _under_ Leon’s department, collecting data and samples of the world, going on _fieldtrips_.He wasn’t working on the figures, or business strategies. However, his father had given him the most _important_ role out of anybody here. It was this thought that soothed his fists into flattened palms, eyes burnishing with pride. Nobody else had been entrusted with this, only he.

As the aircraft began to descend and they were all told to buckle up into their seats once more, Arthur was certain of one thing.

There was no room for failure. He was not going to let his father down.

**♦☼♦**

Since landing on the new terrain there had been no time to indulge in the landscape or admire Albion. In fact the early evening had been showered with droning tasks such as unpacking clothes, taking a pointless tour of the endless building, and meeting with Uther in the hall –he didn’t have much to say other than a dry and rather unwelcoming “welcome”. Next came the laborious task of allocating rooms. Arthur momentarily felt like he was a kid on holiday with siblings as his companions raced gracelessly to call dibs on the biggest room first. Gwaine had reached their sleeping halls first with a smug smirk. Leon was next. Arthur refused to participate in such childish games. Thus, naturally, as he was the last to arrive at the rather bland corridor housing seven or eight rooms, Arthur had no choice in the matter. The one advantage his room _did_ have in comparison to the others was it was the closest to the laundry room.

Having spent only a few dull hours here, Arthur had already established that the dull building was silent and dull and large and dull…and had he mentioned _dull_? It remained remarkably empty- which had been no surprise as only Arthur and a hand full of others were here. Many more were yet to arrive in the next few weeks. The walls lacked a splash of vibrant colour. Instead they remained a pallid complexion that feasted on the shadows of passers-by. The tasteless rooms had no element of warmth or personality and seemed _only_ willing to serve a basic purpose to a mediocre ability- sitting down on his bed for the first time had confirmed his suspicions of this. Some finishing touches had yet to be completed around some areas of base. But it really _was_ a wonder Morgause and her team had managed to do build something of this scale in less than three weeks. Arthur assumed magic had _something_ to do with it, as he meticulously studied the internal framework in awe.

The night had crept over the Camelot Base like an assassin; hauling a dark veil over the sky with such precision the shift was almost inconspicuous to the occupied newcomers below. Distant twinkling stars poked their heads through the veil, littering the black expanse with diamond studs. The moon followed in pursuit, its face painted gold and enrapturing all who were still awake to bask in its radiance. Arthur had been one of those few, not quite reaching the level of exhaustion needed to plunge into the average bed. Whilst gazing at the moon from his window, his Merlin necklace was clasped in his hands tightly. It was as if he feared it would flutter away into the night upon release. Kissing the silver bird hanging from a delicate chain, Arthur shut his eyes for a moment and dwelled in the rare tranquility. It had been a long time since he had done this: sit by the window at night and hold his mother’s necklace close.

Part of him wondered why it was the land of Albion that had resurfaced this childhood habit. Another part of him felt guilty at the notion he had dismissed this routine from his life, pencilled out time to ponder on his mother and replace it with business plans or something alike. Eventually, he settled into an insipid dream, breathing slow and steady against his pillow. His Merlin necklace was clutched tightly in one hand pressed close to his chest. He had fallen deep enough into his sleep to disregard the sound of his name resonating through the room.

_Arthur. Arthur._

And if he had heard it, it simply became a fragment added to the events occurring within the land of dreams.

_Arthur…_


	8. Chapter 8

Seven days had passed since the arrival of Arthur Pendragon and the recruited soldiers in his father’s mad war against magic. By now, the people flocking the enormous base were in the hundreds, maybe even drawing close to a thousand. The days were full of hard work, preparations for hidden agendas, preparations for _exposed_ agendas. The man failed to understand what exactly they wanted to achieve here, and knew that they had not set foot outside the tall black gates once for a reason. His experience had shown him that these people were far more meticulous and calculated in their actions than any of the other druids have given credit. He crept towards the usual place. It was sheltered well by the Albion forests and the lush plants sprouting in the undergrowth. But it was close enough to hear the voices of those in the base, to _see_ them walking in the small grounds provided. Merlin had warned him that his little spy spot was _too_ close to the Base. Of course, he did have a point. The clearing for the base was less than twenty metres away, close enough to be _caught_ for sure.

Despite the warnings from his friend, he continued to use the spot. And right now, it appeared somebody else had _also_ favoured the spot- _his_ spot. A smirk spread over his lips as his eyes roamed over the figure ahead. Her familiar black hair draped down her back. She wore a tasselled dress enriched with the crisp colours of autumn leaves: russet, scarlet and amber. Her body was perched towards the base, fingers precariously peeking through the leaves to grant full visual access. He managed to get a few feet behind her before her body became tense and frozen.

“I _knew_ you’d be here.”

A sigh of relief flung past her lips as she cast her face back to meet his cheeky expression. It had been a while since his handsome face had graced her presence. She smiled gently at him, her soft brown eyes met his reluctantly, full of interest and hidden fixation.

“You scared me William!” she hissed as the nonchalant character took a seat in the hideout beside her. “I thought they’d noticed me.”

Shrugging, Will picked a leaf up from the ground distractedly.

“It’s not like you need to worry if you ever were captured.” He began with a scoff. “By nightfall you’d be able to free yourself anyway.”

The woman averted her gaze back to the base, refusing to let him see the hurt flash over her eyes. It was a wonder why she still felt anything for this stupid boy who spoke with a sharpened tongue. He did, however, notice her recoil as he casually leant towards her.

“Sorry. That was a bit insensitive.” He admitted.

Raising her eyebrows at his words, the woman cast a quick glance towards him.

“So where’s Merlin?”

“With Balinor probably.” Will monotonously supplied, hoping to purge that name from conversation as quick as possible.

He mentally cursed himself for how selfish envy _still_ consumed him when she spoke of his friend, his _best_ friend. It had been years ago, when they were all probing teenagers- it hadn’t lasted long. At the time Merlin did not understand that Will’s rather blasé retorts towards her were actually a strange way of demonstrating affection. He probably still didn’t understand the way Will operated. Will didn’t exactly ride the smoothest train of communication. Biting his lips at the awkward atmosphere enclosing around them, he rested his eyes on the Camelot Base. This wasn’t how he thought seeing her again would be like. His mind was reeling with questions; the main one being why the hell was she so impartial to him? 

“Seen anything interesting yet?” he offered inanely, wanting to punch himself for the dullness of his question. Nonetheless, she answered.

“Not really. Considering their grand landing, they’re keeping themselves to themselves.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. They’re probably going through some ridiculous _master plan_.”

“I forgot that you’ve been there.” The woman said pensively, turning her attention back towards Will.

“Most exciting years of my life!” he exclaimed with a smile, examining the brown eyes for a moment attentively. _Aside from the time I spent with you._

Frowning she studied the base, allowing her mind to drift towards negativity and anxiety. Will instantly identified her shift in mood, and placed a rough hand on her smooth shoulder.

“It’s okay Freya. We’ll chase them out in the next few months, lure a pack of Wildren’s their way- they won’t know what hit them.”

Laughing incredulously beside him, the woman – Freya – shot him a blinding smile, pearly white teeth exposed. He indulged in her compelling beauty and reached his hands into her dark hair. Then impulsively, he kissed her fiercely. She responded with hesitance at first, moulding her lips against his avidly a few seconds later. Will sheepishly glanced over to the Camelot Base once they parted. He was about to offer his apologies for his spontaneous actions, but noticed the smile creeping over her mouth. This gesture filled him with warmth and newfound confidence.

“I’ve missed you, you know. I’ve been thinking about you more than ever lately.”

A sprinkle of crimson dusted her cheeks.

“I’ve missed you too Will.”

Humming cheerfully at her words, he leant further into the leaves. The smile on his lips quickly morphed into a thin line, eyes emitting confusion. He staggered so far forwards that Freya tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder in fear he would stumble out into the clearing and be spotted. Squinting his eyes, he grinned once he had established what was happening at the Base.

“Well, well, well.”

“What is it?” Freya asked impatiently, trying to peer through the leaves at a particularly difficult angle. “I can’t see.”

“Looks like the birds are leaving the nest.” He replied, a mischievous element embedded in his tone.

“And with only a few hours until the sun begins to set…” turning to the woman with a knowing glint in his eyes, he watched the corners of her mouth upturn a little before swiftly moving back into a stern line.

“That’s _brave_.” Freya admitted ambiguously, refusing to participate in the obvious joke he was trying to make.

Her gruesome transformation, a terrible curse inflicted upon her, was _not_ a laughing matter. However, Will seemed to be the only person who could make this dreadful part of her life amusing. Despite being moderately insulting, he refused to have in-depth conversations about it, or allow her to wallow in self-pity. She had never thanked him for doing so. Everybody else treated it with unconvincing empathy or loathing. He treated it like it was perfectly normal and absolutely brilliant.

“-Stupid more like!” he exclaimed, and she was unable to control her playful smile.

“I suppose it is,” She breathed, watching four figures make their way out of the base’s safety and into the forest. One of them was smart enough to have some kind of weapon in their possession – a gun according to Will. Meeting his eyes, she feigned innocence.

“…who knows what kind of formidable creatures roam the forests at night.”

**♦☼♦**

The four of them made their way towards the large black gates, bearing similar expressions of excitement and curiosity. The blinding sun was still relatively high in the sky, with a few hours to go until sunset. However, Uther had made it clear that this first visit to the outside world was only to be a short one. They should be back long before the sun hit the horizon. Each of them had received a teleporting device from Morgause in the case of an emergency so they could make a swift return. It was a peculiar black square box, small enough to fit into Arthur’s palm. On the device, there was a green button and a red one. Part of him wished they had been shown how to properly use this piece of equipment before delving off into the forest. The only thing she had said is that it could not be used unless you were standing still because something terrible to do with molecular structure and scientific things he didn’t understand would happen if you weren’t. Judging by the look of horror on Leon’s face, Arthur guessed it was best to just stick to what she said.

Arthur seemed to be the only one of his companions with _some_ sense of camouflage, dressed in dark green trousers and a murky brown vest top that outlined his fit physique. Gwaine seemed to get the general idea of camouflage with some shades of the forest replicated in his clothing. Leon on the other hand was oblivious to it, clearly too engrossed with the idea of going out into the Wuduwésten region of Albion (the area encompassing Serepolis, Ealdor and Dresdentian. Leon crafted the name, basing it on the druid word for ‘forest’ fittingly.)

The dark-haired woman beside them drew Arthur into a tight embrace, almost choking his airways at its brute force. Returning the hug in surprise, he felt a smirk tickle his lips. It was almost as if Morgana was _worried_ about this little outing.

“ _Don’t.”_ she hissed as she released him, eyes sharpening for a moment.

The words on the tip of his unsheathed tongue slithered away into silence, replaced by a mock questioning raise of his eyebrows. Morgana turned from Arthur and pulled Leon into her arms for a moment. Beside them Gwaine pulled a contorted face, and Lancelot conveniently turned his gaze elsewhere. Then, abruptly she paced away from the four men and met Arthur’s eyes slowly.

“Be careful. You don’t know what’s out there.”

Rolling his eyes, the blonde adjusted the belt around his waist. Attached to it was a gun and a primitive knife encased in leather.

“We’ll be _fine_ Morgana, it’s not like the _trees_ have teeth.” He insisted with a hint of blithe amusement, failing to notice the extent of her unusual anxiety. For a split second he mentally winced at the image spread across in his mind, his words tempting fate; he really hoped the ancient trees _didn’t_ have teeth.

The towering gates opened with a loud buzz, gesturing for the small team of explorers could leave the premises. Lancelot and Leon took the first steps out of the base, exchanging looks of concentrated enthusiasm. The rugged Gwaine followed them, swishing his dazzling hair out of his face. Indifferent to the whole thing, Arthur wallowed after them, taking out his sunglasses to avoid being skewered by the sun’s rays. Sure, part of him was genuinely interested in viewing the landscape. But he wasn’t here to flatter the trees and take endless samples. He was _supposed_ to be talking to the druids and negotiating with them.When his father expected for him to actually _meet_ the druids he was unsure. It seemed this project was going to be a laborious one, and some things were going to take time.

They reached the end of the Base clearing, greeted by vast trees that loomed ominously over them and a breadth of wild plants, some taller than themselves. Within the forest, large parts of it were not touched by the sun and hovered in a dull light that trickled through the layers of leaves. Pulling out a transparent computer screen from his backpack, Leon pressed a few buttons and revealed a map of the area, constructed by him. The scholarly genius had spent the past month building a navigation system with the aid of Morgause and her profound knowledge of Albion. Arthur was unsure how she knew what she did. To put it bluntly, she didn’t look like the kind of person to sit and read books all day.

“If we continue that way,” Leon pointed with a finger absently, eyes studying the holographic map. “We will meet the evergreen trees of Dresdentian. But if we went,” his body turned forty-five degrees, finger hoisted towards a different direction. “ _This_ way. We’d be closer to Ealdor.” _And the Crystal Cave_ was the unspoken implied message.

It was no secret that Ealdor held the most interest to Leon, mainly because of the peculiar way the surrounding wildlife appeared to be linked to the Crystals. Arthur had been forced to listen to his lecture all about it before they boarded the plane to Albion. Exploring the Ealden forests appeared to benefit every agenda here, even the secret one known only to the young Pendragon.

“Well then it’s settled.” Arthur clasped his hands together, striding confidently towards the second option. “You said so yourself you found Ealdor’s ecology fascinating. Why don’t we start big?”

In mutual agreement, the others trailed behind him. The trees swallowed them whole, shoving them into the internal network embedded inside. Eyes wide, Arthur gazed around in unashamed awe. It was striking. Colossal tree trunks were scattered in the distance, not yet close enough for their size to be truly appreciated. In front of them, the more modest trees allowed pure jets of sunlight to sift through their arms, decorated with thick vines and moss.

The light revealed that shrubs and plants obscured the muddy ground. Some of these plants were recognisable like the fern with its thin, serrated leaves. Others were foreign and abnormal. Alongside the fern, flowering plants grew staggeringly tall. One plant nestled by Arthur’s side had leaves larger than his head, succulent and encrypted with a velvet soft texture. His eyes soared up the thin stems of these plants that merged into the humble trees the higher his eyes went. The tops of the trees shielded the sky; small pockets of white bursts were visible. It created an interesting ceiling, array with contrasting shapes and shades of emerald.

 “Wow.”

Lancelot voiced his personal amazement. He reached out towards a magenta plant. Abruptly the plant folded in on itself, almost taking the man’s hand into its clutches as it snapped shut. Jumping back in alarm, Lance stumbled into Gwaine who was grinning. Arthur laughed at the spectacle; Leon was not so amused. Sighing, he inspected the gash across Lancelot’s tanned hand with a frown. He quickly pulled out a large plaster from his backpack and swatted it onto the skin.

“That was a disguised giant Venus flytrap. Don’t touch _anything_. _”_

“How are we supposed to take samples if we can’t touch?” The mischievous brown haired man beside Arthur asked.

Leon shot Gwaine a pointed look with a trace of smile before fumbling through the extensive vines and draping branches in front. Casting one more glance to the beautiful entrance into the forest, Arthur moved forwards gracelessly. The ground had a spongy texture beneath his feet, keen to latch onto his shoes. The sound of exotic birds filled the tranquil air. Some screeched menacingly, others chirped contentedly on the ledges of their trees. Arthur pretended not to notice how they seemed to leer towards them as they walked past, gazing upon them with eyes far too wise for animals.

After walking for twenty minutes with nothing of interest jumping out, they began to notice that a fluffy red bird was resilient in pursuing them. Or more specifically it pursued _Arthur,_ darting around his head countless times with a droning hum. It’s scarlet wings fluttered hypnotically with an abnormal shimmer, the navy blue beak was short at the end of its rounded face. Batting it away with his hands, he irritably muttered under his breath. It sprung back towards him effortlessly, large lilac eyes blinking at him.

“Aw, Arthur’s found a forest friend-”

“-Shut-up Gwaine.” He retorted, a little more aggressive with his lashes at the air, unable to mirror the bird’s speed. He had never been an animal person. Not to say that he didn’t _like_ animals, he just didn’t see the appeal to keep one. When it flew too close to his face, he clamped his eyes shut and rushed forwards.

“Go _away!_ ”

For a moment he believed himself to be free of the ridiculous creature. Then the plump bird levitated in the air in front of him, titling its head to the side. Groaning, Arthur dived under the bird to walk forwards. It followed him loyally like a new puppy.

“It’s a cute little thing.” Lancelot chuckled from in front with Leon who turned around and smiled, ensuring to snap a quick photograph of it for his database. Arthur’s tormented face added to the picture immensely.

“I think you should name it.” Gwaine said, clearly delighted by Arthur’s irritation.

The flaming complexion and gritted teeth gestured to him that the blond wanted to do nothing more than grab the gun from his pocket and scare the damn thing away by the noise of a fired bullet. But that would no doubt attract unnecessary attention towards them.

“What’s the druid word for _annoying?_ ” Arthur called out gruffly to Leon a few metres ahead. The red bird, wings glistening in the streams of sunlight, persistently flew by Arthur’s ear.

“…Well the closest match for this scenario would be the word ábilgest*.” Leon replied knowledgably. 

“Right. Ábilgest, it was a pleasure meeting you. Now go home.” Ábilgest appeared to show dislike towards the name, chirping indignantly in response as if it understood Arthur’s words. Rolling his eyes, Arthur brushed the bird from his shoulder. It perched itself back onto his shoulder in seconds.

“Look it’s your _own fault_. Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I would have called you something different!” part of him couldn’t believe he had resorted to arguing with a bird in a magical forest.

It was almost surreal. The successful businessman, heir to Camelot Enterprise, was now dressed in old, tattered clothes and traipsing around the forest like a bloody tourist. If somebody told him he’d be doing this two years ago he would have laughed and told them to piss off. Ábilgest clicked its beak together, refusing to leave Arthur’s shoulder. The sensation of its talons against his thin vest top was weird, he concluded.

“Arthur it complements your eyes!” Gwaine said with a snigger.

“Don’t start filling its ego.”

“I wasn’t talking about Ábilgest.” He gestured towards the thick vine that had snaked its way around Arthur’s left arm.

Grabbing the sharp knife from his belt, Arthur lunged at the vine. The fact that a _vine_ seemed to have a conscious body freaked him out greatly. Ábilgest flew off his shoulders, wailing at the vine as if it would succumb to its tuneless melody. He sliced the vine effortlessly, watching it wilt into the ground. However, what happened next he was _not_ expecting at all. The vine emitted a faint glow and in a matter of seconds grew back what Arthur had chopped off. Ábilgest stared at the vine with its huge eyes. Pacing back, eyes doubled in size, Arthur gazed over to Leon who made his way over in fascination.

“W-what the-?!” he spluttered, knife still in hand. “I just _cut that vine!”_

“It’s brilliant,” Leon gasped, crouching down towards the vine. “It’s like… _the magic_ flows through the land, connecting everything together, allowing energy to be transferred between organisms to revive and heal themselves. I’ve never seen _anything_ like it.”

“Let’s take a sample, Gwaine.” Lancelot said keenly, hauling out a transparent cylinder from Leon’s backpack on the ground.

The dark-haired man kneeled beside Lancelot, and Arthur suddenly felt extremely out of place. It seemed they were too captivated to remember his presence, and they hardly needed _his_ help in the matter. The three men were experts in this kind of thing. Being in a whole new land, Arthur guessed that his clumsy hands would not be wanted. Shuffling awkwardly, he gazed upon the scene, unsure what to do with himself. The realisation that he knew nothing of this department’s procedures dawned on him. His whole presence here was in all honesty purposeless.

Arthur knew that wandering off, especially in the forests of an unknown world, was incredibly stupid. He could practically hear Morgana’s scolding tone ringing through his ears. Nonetheless he gradually paced away from the group, Ábilgest flying beside him devotedly. For the first time since this bird’s arrival he appreciated its company. Smiling a little as it landed on his shoulder, he petted the bird’s chaotic tuft of hair on its head. Deep inside, he had to admit it was rather adorable. The red bundle of fluff purred in appreciation.

“Yeah, you’re not so bad.” Arthur muttered to Ábilgest softly, pushing the obscuring branches from their path. 

“But don’t tell anyone I said that.” he quickly snapped.

A sudden disturbance in the profound collection of plants beside them bought Arthur to an abrupt halt. _Shit._ This was why wandering off was a bad idea- _ambush._ The sunlight had become scarcer the deeper they walked into the forest, the corner to their left almost drained completely of visibility. Pressing a finger to his lips, he gestured for Ábilgest to remain quiet. The moment he committed to the human signal, he felt a pang of amusement wash over him. What was he _doing?_ Signaling to a bird? For reasons he could not fathom, the little bird on his shoulder became an immobile statue. The rustling continued in the bushes ahead, and Arthur nestled closer to the source of the noise. A peculiar collection of high-pitched whispery voices scraped past his ears. Cautiously he reached for the gun in his pocket, pointing it towards the darkness ahead.

Etching closer, Arthur swallowed-hard nervously. Ábilgest’s talons gripped his shoulder tightly in what he only assumed was apprehension. Unexpectedly the forest around them began to quiver, leaves rustling violently. The mysterious whispering grew louder and more frequent. Spinning around on his heel, Arthur aimlessly moved his gun around. Whatever it was, there were a _lot_ of them. A chuckle from behind intensified Arthur’s senses, and he rapidly turned to face…Leon. Oh. So they had finished taking their samples. Lowering his gun slowly, Arthur narrowed his eyes skeptically. Something _still_ wasn’t right here. Why was Leon so blasé about it?

“Put the gun _down_.” The curly haired man said lightly with an entertained smile. “They’re completely _harmless.”_

Burying the gun back into his leather belt, Arthur breathed a sigh. Well, this was an anticlimax. He half expected to be running away frantically from some kind of killer beast in the forest. The whispering sensation erupted again from all around, and Arthur turned to Leon curiously.

“What are they?” he asked, not believing the answer he received.

“Faeries.”

Snorting, Arthur grinned dubiously at his friend. _Faeries._ Ha! That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard in his _life._ Faeries were common in _forbidden_ childhood stories, particularly one called Peter Pan if he recalled correctly (Morgana had favoured that one). Their existence was make-belief, fiction. _Everybody_ knew there was no such thing. Recovering from his laughter, Arthur was surprised to see Leon remaining unaffected, leaning towards the trees. The strange whispering occurred again, almost like tiny voices- _no._ Just because Leon said they were _faeries_ did not mean his mind was allowed to employ imagination and start playing games. He rolled his eyes at Leon.

“I hate to break it to you Leon but there’s _no such_ _thing_ as F-“ gaping, Arthur let his words wither away into nothing.

Magic seeped through the clearing, tingling against his skin contagiously. The first illuminated creature, barely the size of Arthur’s hand, bashfully crept out from the shadows. Her skin was a pale blue and glimmered mesmerizingly, incomparable in beauty. It was as if thousands of miniscule diamonds were dotted across her dainty body. Delicate, translucent wings entrenched with a sparkle sprouted from her back. As she made her way forwards with interest, she left a silvery trail of glitter behind her in the air. The streaks of sunlight drizzling down into the clearing accentuated the effervescence. Twirling around in the air gracelessly, the faerie whispered enigmatically and bared its perfect teeth. The edges of her sapphire dress lifted in the breeze. From the forest around more faeries made their way into the clearing, dancing between the avid humans and circling them. There was an array of different coloured faeries. Some of them were a majestic gold, some were silver or crimson, emerald, magenta, yellow, purple…

Against the rays of the sun they created a beautiful rainbow of awe, the glitter in the air gleamed exquisitely around them. Arthur felt particularly drawn to the azure faerie that had been the first to approach them. Their tranquil whispers lingered in his ears, unknown warmth spread through his chest. Reaching out inquiringly, Arthur outstretched his palm. A dazzling white faerie with long frosty curls and dressed in an elegant gown landed on his skin. Her bare feet caused a prickly, but pleasant, sensation to dawdle in his hand. It gazed with its tiny eyes into his own and for reasons he did not understand it curtsied. Bowing his head a little to the creature, Arthur smiled delicately. Then it flapped its wings and floated gracefully around him. The dust from her wings landed in his palm. He studied it fervently, disappointment riming his eyes when it disintegrated.

Ábilgest extended its wings, happily weaving in between the faeries. The sapphire faerie climbed elegantly onto its back, giggling as the bird weaved through the air playfully. The whispering of the faeries grew louder. It was soothing, _tranquil_. Their tiny voices somehow acted as a source of great contentment and peace. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Arthur smiled and breathed the fresh air into his lungs. The faeries were content and docile, showing no signs of hostility towards the new arrivals. However, as he opened is eyes slowly he established that their prying had begun to diminish. The faeries gradually weaved mystically through the air and back into the depths of the trees. The pale blue faerie leapt off Ábilgest’s back, igniting the surrounding area with a spectacle of sapphire glitter. She timidly spared one final look at the strangers before darting off into the rustling branches.

The rustling withered away alongside the whispers. And Arthur truly believed he had witnessed something special, something he was certain was probably a rare occurrence for the druids also. Faeries were sacrosanct creatures- that was no secret.

“Surprised?” Leon asked, his voice basked in joy, breaking the blonde from his trance. “This is a _magical land._ There will be hundreds, possibly _thousands_ of new species and magical creatures we need to catalogue.”

It was only at this moment that Arthur noticed he had been so entranced by the faeries that he had failed to shut his mouth the whole time.

“Magical creatures.” Arthur repeated, wincing a little at the notion of what this encompassed.

It hadn’t really occurred to him until now. His mind instantly flew to Harry Potter and the basilisk. Hopefully they would never encounter such a creature _here._ Though the display of myth and legend becoming reality before him suggested that _anything_ could be possible. They had encountered the _good_ kind, surely there had to be less friendly beasts lurking in the depths of the forests.

The four of them, and Ábilgest, continued through the forest. They seemed to be oblivious to the caramelising sun, and the orange hue it now possessed lower in the sky. They were _also_ blissfully unaware that they had unwanted company loitering above in the ancient trees. Though to say that the company was hostile or dangerous would be a matter of digression. The curious figure in the trees studied the four characters intently, leaning a little too far forward on the branch. As leaves fell from the branches above without the aid of a breeze, Arthur’s eyes darted up suspiciously. For a split second he could have _sworn_ he had seen a _person_ in the tree vanish in some impossible manner.

Reaching for the weapons in his belt, he studied the tree cautiously. Silence. Nothing. Beside him, Leon glanced down at the screen in his hands and sighed. Reluctantly, Arthur drew his eyes from the tree and towards the man quizzically.

“It’s getting late. We should teleport back _._ ” Leon said gravely, eyeing the forest with a newfound caution.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur frowned. Part of him was beginning to _enjoy_ the forest. The thought of returning to the bland base did not appeal to him.

“It’s not getting dark yet, we’ll be _fine_ -“

“-Arthur the sun is setting in the sky! We’ve been too caught up in our exploring to notice. The forest is deceptive.” Lancelot supplied, pulling out his teleporting device.

“Arthur’s just upset he has to say goodbye to Ábilgest until tomorrow.” Gwaine said lightly, grinning over at the blonde, the loyal red bird was still perched on his shoulder.

“We don’t have _time_ to stand here and argue about it. We need to go back, the teleport device is still a prototype. It takes a few minutes to charge up.” Leon snapped with surprising authority, silencing the team.

Whilst Arthur pulled out his teleporting device, Ábilgest rapidly darted off his shoulder and sped into the distance, out of sight in seconds. Glancing at his vacant shoulder, Arthur huffed.

“Well _thanks_ for saying goodb-“ he paused suddenly, narrowing his eyes at the three men in front of him. He swallowed-hard as he examined their pallid faces. Their eyes were wide, frozen in fear. Lancelot began to inch backwards at a slow pace; even _Gwaine_ seemed a little panicked.

“- _what_?”

The three men found their words were incapable of sounding, instead they gaped and Lancelot raised a hesitant finger to gesture behind Arthur. It was then Arthur noticed the towering shadow looming above him, and an overwhelming sense of impending doom washed over him. 


	9. Chapter 9

Turning around, Arthur clamped a hand to his mouth to avoid the imminent blasphemy about to fall from his mouth in a loud shriek. Less than a metre away from him was a bloody gigantic _cat._ Not the kind of pleasant household cats but the kind certified as wild and vicious.It had jet-black fur, with circular patterns printed across it like a leopard. Each of its four paws was equipped with sharp claws, far too long and deadly for _any_ cat in Arthur’s opinion. Spouting from its back were a pair of strident wings, currently nestled into its side. Its face was the epitome of terrifying, the open mouth revealing two rows of jagged teeth. A pair of gigantic fangs hung at the front, clearly for the purpose of pinning down prey or inflicting a fatal blow. Not to mention those huge yellow eyes with slits for pupils, or how they seemed to be locked on _Arthur._

“So…Leon.” Arthur hissed as quietly as he could, not daring to avert his attention from the beast in front of him. For all he knew it could pounce any second and attack. “What’s the plan…?”

Abruptly the cat growled ferociously, its wings flapped by its side rapidly. It prowled forwards, eyes locked on the blonde. Startled, Arthur slid his hands gradually towards his belt.

“Don’t move!” Leon uttered in a hushed voice before Arthur could leap backwards suddenly at the intrusion of his personal space.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur felt a nervous laugh building in his chest. Personally, he’d quite like to do anything _but_ stand still. Staring down a creature bigger than him, most likely able to rip him to shreds in seconds with its fangs and claws and serrated teeth, was not his idea of fun. Too dazed to feel fear, he blinked slowly. Part of him hoped his mind had simply made up this creature.

“…What the fuck _should_ I do then?!” his voice slipped through his teeth, anger and irritation laced in the tone.

“It seems to be a territorial threat display. Hold your ground.”

Funnily enough, the words ‘ _it seems to be’_ were not consoling and merely filled Arthur with apprehension. Nonetheless, Leon’s expertise was probably going to be the only thing that would keep him alive. If this creature wanted intimidation built on the foundations of a massive bluff, then yes, Arthur Pendragon _could_ do that. Because pretending his oozing pride was a genuine trait of his personality seemed to have done him well the past few years. Inhaling a deep breath he broadened his gait, shoulders pushed out. Head held high, he leant forwards towards the cat bravely. It tilted its head to the side quizzically, and then it roared menacingly. The stench of blood and sheer force of the roar pushed him backwards slightly. With newfound confidence, Arthur rushed forwards with a cry. To his surprise the cat took a few steps back, walking from side to side in aggravation.

“Arthur it’s working keep going!”

Lunging a step forwards, Arthur drew the knife from his belt and flashed it around, eyes fierce. The cat released a weary growl, wings retreating back to its side. With one final glance at Arthur it grimly made its way into the undergrowth. Grinning Arthur slung the knife nonchalantly back into his belt, strolling over to the three men with a mischievous glint in his eye. Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief; Gwaine smirked at the victory.

“Did you just see that?!” he exclaimed, allowing the bottled up anxiety out in the manner of an disbelieving laugh. “ _I_ just scared away a giant…cat… _thingy!”_ The smiles and laughter didn’t last for much longer. By now the sun had begun to slip towards the horizon, darkening the forest and impairing their vision. Leon urgently pulled out his teleporting device, aware that if they tried to walk anywhere now it would be too dangerous.

“We need to _get out of here_ , and fast. The forest isn’t safe.” He said pointedly.

Pressing the green button on his device obediently, Gwaine shot his companions a toothy smile.

“Well, that wasn’t too shabby for a first venture outside was it?”

“Not at _all._ ” Lancelot agreed with reverence, mimicking Gwaine’s actions and pressing his own device. Arthur followed.

“Back to Camelot we go.” Leon said with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

“Wait til Morgana hears about Ábilgest.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the statement, not willing to admit his shoulder felt profoundly empty without the stupid bird perched upon it. He assumed it had flown off in fright due to the strange cat _thingy,_ or back to wherever its nest was.

“I wonder if we’d be able to persuade security to let him stay-?”

“He was cute, wasn’t he dollophead?”

“Dollophead?” Lancelot asked, raising his eyebrows at the peculiar insult.

“Yeah, did you not hear about John Smi-“

“-That’s _enough_ Gwaine!” Arthur snapped petulantly, furrowing his brow together in frustration, unable to fully conceal the twitch of his lips.

For a split second the world was quiet, _peaceful._ There was a gentle humming, emanating from the teleporting devices that were loading up to transport them back to the base. The sound of the birds had faded away, replaced by silence. Arthur used the next few moments to reflect on the outing today. The atmosphere of tranquility and peace quickly faded. Seemingly from out of nowhere a shadow hung over Arthur. Leon shouted out in warning, but it was too late. Glancing up, Arthur’s eyes widened at the sight. The winged cat was hovering about him, about to strike. Diving to the ground desperately, he scrambled up onto his feet. The cat landed with a skid, claws scraping against the ground. Swallowing-hard, Arthur studied his teleport device; it was still loading. There was no time to just _stand still._ This creature had made it clear through its ambush it wanted nothing more than to skewer Arthur on its fangs.

It happened so fast. The next few minutes tumbled into a matter of seconds. The cat jumped towards him, and Arthur crouched down to avoid being caught. It roared formidably, stirring the wildlife around. Gwaine attempted to reach for Arthur but Lancelot clutched onto him urgently. Any movement would stop the teleporting device from working. The creature made another violent lurch forwards, narrowly missing Arthur’s side. At that moment, glancing up Arthur met his companion’s eyes and noticed the strange hue around them. Gwaine called out his name in vain. Within seconds they vanished from sight. Panic soared through Arthur’s veins. _Shit shit shit!_ The teleporting devices had kicked in! He was well and truly done for. Casting a glance back at where they had once stood, Arthur attempted to calm his shaking body as reality set back in.

He broke into a frantic run, the beating wings of the cat hovered above him. It swooped down, landing in front of him. Spinning around on his heel, Arthur dived towards the bushes headfirst. He didn’t stop to wince at the way the trees slashed his skin. Bounding frenziedly to his feet, he sprinted through the trees. The bush behind him crackled under the pressure of the beast plunging through it forcefully. Clumsily he lost his footing, the cat leapt closer towards him. _Shit._ Arthur get up, get up! Adrenaline urged his body on. Crawling under the large branch beside him, he scarcely missed the jaws of the beast. Sliding out the other side, he shielded his face with his palms when greeted by the cat’s haunting face. The cat growled hungrily, pounding the wood with a paw. Arthur tucked himself back under the branch and scuttled out the other side silently. He wasted no time getting back onto his aching feet. By the time he had plummeted into a run, his heart racing, the creature spotted him and jumped effortlessly over the branch to chase him.

The orange sun in the sky above was emitting less and less light, beginning to obscure the forest. Averting his eyes up to the forest ceiling, he gasped. Somehow, he _had_ to get up into the canopy layer of the forest, or he was going to _die._ It seemed fate was favouring his death, for the winged cat was on his trail, gaining speed fast. Refusing to let his tired legs give way, Arthur ploughed forwards determinedly. After what felt like _hours_ of exasperating running, though in reality it was roughly a minute, the forest spat him out onto a rocky terrain. The sound of gushing water overpowered his throbbing ears. Fumbling forwards, Arthur maintained his unsteady balance. The rock below his feet was inches away from the edge that cascaded down into a pool of treacherous water. Ahead of him a giant waterfall – a little smaller than the one in Retraix- was spread across the near horizon. Spinning around, he watched the winged beast escape the forest, landing on the rock. Slowly it stalked towards him, pushing him closer to the edge of the cliff. He eyed the beast cautiously, breathing heavy. Without hesitation or mercy it ran towards him. Arthur looked back at the vast drop behind him; the expanse of jagged rocks and perilous waves churned a fatal mixture.

One thing he knew for sure as his life flashed before his eyes:

He didn’t stand a fucking chance.

**♦☼♦**

 “What the hell?!” Gwaine yelled, pushing himself ferociously from Lancelot’s firm grasp. Lunging for his teleporting system, he glared at the two men beside him. Leon sighed, holding a hand to his own mouth in shock.

“Why didn’t you let me go after him!”

“Gwaine. What use is it?” the tanned man responded in a severe tone. “It’s getting dark. There’s only _three_ of us-”

Retaliating in frustration, the rugged man paced back and forth, and then aggressively kicked the metallic bin beside them. It fell over violently, its clang echoed throughout the room.

“-There’s fucking _one_ of Arthur! He won’t survive the night with that _creature_ -”

“-what creature?” a new voice shrieked in horror, eyes wide and long raven curls draping down her back. Clamping his eyes shut for a moment Leon held up a hand, nausea flooding into his system. Things couldn’t have got any worse, and to think Arthur had been just _minutes_ from getting back to the base safely. To think they had been engaged in light-hearted conversation a few minutes ago, the irony of the whole situation pelted him in the face.

“Where’s Arthur?” the voice screamed, vehemently walking towards the trio.

Leon and Lancelot exchanged solemn looks and remained deliberately silent. Clenching his fists, Gwaine threw his device on the floor in rage.

“We got ambushed-“

At these words the multitude of voices in the room all resounded in chaotic unison, creating a shower of confusing shouts.

“-we were just _minutes_ from returning-“

“-Ambushed by _what?!-“_

“-I _tried_ to save him-”

“Let’s think about this realistically he-“

“-So unexpected it went away-“

“-Why didn’t you bring him back-“

“-Morgana you _have_ to _listen_ to-“

“-It looked very much like-“

“-could be _dead_ -“

“-a Bastet from what we could see-“

“-How could you let this happen-“

“-We tried-“

“-No _I_ tried-“

“-you abandoned him-“

“- _What_ in Gods name is going on here?” the demanding, familiar voice carried through the room, instantly silencing the four squabbling people. Uther’s footsteps resonated loudly as he approached them. Beside him the beady-eyed blonde woman stood, arms folded over her chest. Narrowing his eyes, Uther studied the group of people before him.

“Where is my son?” he asked sternly, his intense gaze resting on Leon who tried not to flinch at the Pendragon’s threatening eyes.

Taking a step forwards, Leon failed to meet the man’s eyes, unsure what exactly to say. Eventually nervous words spluttered from his mouth.

“It…it was an accident. W-e could have _never_ foretold t-that this-“

“-You mean to tell me that my _son_ is out there.” The man bellowed in outrage, looming over Leon ominously.

“With all due respect sir,” Lancelot spoke with haste, rescuing a shaken Leon heroically. “There is nothing we could do. The night is _too dangerous_ out there, you said so yourself-“

Morgana’s nostrils flared, her overwhelming anger seething from her reddened face.

“-Damn what was said! We have to find him _now-“_

“-We can’t act irrationally-“

“-Irrationally? It’s Arthur’s _life.”_ She spat darkly, glowering at whoever dared meet her eyes consumed in a raging inferno.

“We don’t have the sufficient _equipment_ to enter the forests at night-“

“-I can’t believe you’re all wiling to abandon him.” She whispered, her voice cracking octaves. Glancing between the solemn faces around her, Morgana turned to Uther. In turn, Uther turned towards the blonde woman beside him, expression severe.

“Arthur,” The woman began assertively, placing a hand on Uther’s shoulder. “will be fine Uther. I know these lands; the only dangers out here are the ones you put yourself in-“

“-And what about the creature that ambushed them?” Morgana interjected heatedly.

“-Arthur is a smart young man, he will find shelter for the night. Sending a search party out at this time will do no good; it will merely put more men at risk. It may even put Arthur in _more_ risk. As Leon said, we have not yet developed the equipment and defences needed to enter the forests at this hour.”

The raven-haired woman shook her head as she watched Uther Pendragon stroke him chin pensively.

“No.” she snapped. “Morgause is wrong Uther this is _Arthur!”_ her voice became frenzied, syllables blurring. “He’s your son, he’s out there by himself. He could _die-_ ”

“-I believe you are overreacting.” Morgeuse deduced calmly. “The Bastet creature that ambushed them is less intimidating than it looks.”

“If Arthur has any sense he’ll climb up one of the trees and make a shelter.” Lancelot supplied steadily, trying to conceal his own anxiety.

“Morgause is right.” The powerful figure in the room sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose tightly and inhaling a deep breath. “There is nothing we can do to help him. We must pray that he makes it though the night. If he has not returned by dawn, I will send an emergency search party out to find him-“

“-NO!” a vicious scream echoed through the room. Lowering her voice, Morgana shook her head in despair, eyes watery. “You don’t even _care._ ”

“Of course I care he’s my son,” Uther dismissively replied, as if tying up a business agreement. “If I could do anything I would but the truth of the matter is that I can’t until sunrise.”

Snarling at the words, the woman barked back fervently.

“That’s almost twelve hours away! What if he’s injured or hurt?”

“My decision is final.” Uther said loudly, silencing a distraught Morgana. Dejectedly, the man diverted his attention towards her, pressing a hand onto her shoulder.

“This is not an easy decision for me to make Morgana. Arthur will be safe. He has enough initiative to find a safe place to stay.” Tightening his face, he met her eyes. “But if you dare question my judgment again, I will restrain you.”

Releasing her, he continued.

“Morgause, Leon. Follow me. We need to assemble a precautionary plan for the morning.”

Morgana stared blankly after the three of them who quickly left the room. The brown-haired male and tanned man left in her presence remained silent. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what they were thinking to themselves. Running a hand through his disordered hair, Gwaine took a step towards Morgana.

“He’ll be okay.”

Chuckling darkly at these words, the woman vacantly fixated her vision towards the teleporting device. She half expected Arthur to pop out from nowhere, sweaty and full of adrenaline, a blinding grin swathed over his face. The negative, and hopelessly realistic network of thoughts consuming her mind painted a completely different picture.

Arthur didn’t stand a chance. 


	10. Chapter 10

The forest was dark, and cryptically silent. Any trace of sunlight shooting through the gaps between the thick leaves had withered away, leaving a shadowy ominous sky with a thin crescent silver moon. Although the trees were _so_ vast and tall that Arthur Pendragon couldn’t even _see_ the sky. His clothes were damp and cold, his body still shuddering from the collision with the perfidious waters. He couldn’t _really_ complain though, because the odds were remarkably in his favour. It had been a choice of either an assumeddeath or an _assured_ death via the jaws of a demonic cat. Naturally, he had taken his chances of an assumed death. Yes, the blonde man had recklessly jumped over the edge of that towering cliff, expecting to land headfirst on a rock and bleed to death, or get steered into the rapids and die by drowning. To his surprise he had hit the water and managed to hoist himself onto one of the large rocks before drifting into the strong current. From there he slowly made his way across to the other side via the slippery stones. 

It had been a difficult process, drenched head to toe in icy water with no jacket or means of keeping warm. His body was resiliently battling through the cold. He knew if he passed out now he would be dead for sure. When he reached the other side, he had foolishly tried to reboot his teleporting device. The machine choked water out and a small popping sound erupted from its back, indicating he would not be going anywhere. He had almost been tempted to chuck the stupid thing into the water, but decided against it. He was now lost in an endless forest. The only chance he had of making it back alive to the base was that device. Maybe he could fix it.

An hour later, deep inside the _real_ forest of colossal trees, Arthur was even _more_ lost then he had been. He was now wandering aimlessly around the labyrinth, attempting to keep calm. The large flashlight in his hands revealed that above him was a hazy mesh of verdant plants and leaves that were _bigger_ than plants back in his world, intertwined. This immense jungle was far more complex than he had first believed it to be. Beneath his feet, a turquoise spongy moss coated the soil, creating a decently stable terrain. Shrubs and effervescent bushes, some taller than himself, were all around. There appeared to be no clear-cut pathway. That didn’t surprise him as much as it did earlier. According to Leon in a discussion many days ago, the druids walked upon the canopy layer, sometimes even stretching as high up as the emergent layer of the lush, archaic forest. Arthur shuddered at the thought. Some of the trees here reached up to at least one hundred metres in height, many with thick trunks stretching wider than the length of Arthur’s _car._

How the _hell_ you would begin to climb anything here, or have the stamina to- it perplexed him. Everything here was _big,_ beautiful and ancient; he guessed a large amount of the trees to be thousands of years old. The Mercia forest he had dreamt of seeing as a child was a mockery compared to this. Not too far up was the understory, with trees ranging from normal ­non-magical world height to small dainty trees. Then, _there_ was the canopy a little higher – which was where Arthur’s flashlight gave up in trying to distinguish branches from other ones or one tree from another.

It didn’t take long for him to realise that he was most definitely in the _wrong place._ Somehow, before the night fully sunk in and whatever other nocturnal demons lived in Albion emerged, he’d have to get his arse up into those trees and make a shelter. Quickly, he tired his teleporting device once more. As expected, it made the same unresponsive buzzing sound. Slamming it into his pockets in frustration, Arthur sighed heavily. It was no use. He knew there was no way anybody would be coming for him now – and there was no way he was getting back to the safe, secured base anytime soon. He had to survive the night.

 _Damn_ that stupid winged-cat creature… _thing._

Suddenly, the forest became a hue lighter, etched in shades of sapphire, emerald and an array of astounding colours. Gazing down at the ground, Arthur staggered backwards in surprise; the moss was _glowing,_ emitting its own light. His eyes widened as he realised that the whole lower surface of the forest was bioluminescent. The vines draping over thick branches were dusted in speckles of brightness. The undergrowth, shrubs Arthur had insolently overlooked, were now dazzling displays of pure beauty. The small delicate flowers decorating the area were glistening in neon. Gazing around in awe, the blonde male felt the corners of his lips twitch slightly. It was the first time he had smiled; _really_ smiled since the day they had flown over the landscape when they first encountered Albion.

The smile didn’t last for long, because something in Arthur’s peripheral vision movedrather swiftly. Shining his flashlight over towards the spot, he narrowed his eyes at the crunching of the trees around him. Something was here with him, possibly hunting him. Judging by the stillness around, it resembled very much an ambush. _Great,_ another carnivorous monster was out to get him. Instantly, Arthur’s fingers reached for the vine knife in his pocket. Another sound from the opposite direction had him turning, weapon raised in caution. He saw it then.

It was a strange creature, clearly of magical origins merged with the qualities of a hound- only spanning the length of Arthur’s forearm. It had three rows of jagged teeth, which unsettled him, and jet-black skin that was less like fur and more like rubber in the dim light. Before he could establish more about it, it had left his sight and darted back into the shrubbery. A high-pitched howl resonated to his right, followed by several more. Pacing backwards in trepidation, Arthur shoved the flashlight into his pocket. The forest had made enough light for him to see reasonably well, he grabbed the gun in his pocket as a substitute. He’d never really wielded a gun _properly_ before; he preferred older weaponry like swords more. For reasons he couldn’t understand, it felt more natural to him-

-Another howl sounded, metres from him. Slowly walking in a circle around the small perimeter he was in, Arthur held his breath. He put the gun back into his pocket. With his hands trembling, he figured the gun wasn’t going to be much use, particularly in _one_ hand. Clutching tightly onto the silver blade, he bit his lip fiercely, trying to relax his heartbeat. So this is what it felt like to be a vulnerable creature, stumbling into imminent death. Yes, the dog-like creature was small, but what if behind those trees was a _bigger_ version?

Arthur lashed out blindly to his right, narrowly missing the vicious dog that landed at his feet. Another five appeared seemingly out of nowhere, trapping him in a circle. _Well,_ he swallowed-hard, teeth gritted; now he was ultimately screwed. For a few moments there was a stalemate. Neither force moved. The pack of magical dogs remained motionless, clearly sizing up their opponent. Arthur stayed still in hope that they would redirect their attention elsewhere. It was a stupid notion – lumbering about lost in an endless maze of vegetation hardly gave him an edge some other prey may well have had. There was one thing Arthur _did_ have. Breathing slowly, his eyes were focused on the hound in front of him. Speed. Arthur could run. Fast. He’d _always_ been the top of the top at sports day – which admittedly wasn’t something he could boast about right now. Yet he still trained whenever he had time to. If he had managed to escape unscathed from that giant cat, then he definitely had a chance against these animals too.

He broke into a run the second one of the hounds made a pounce towards him with an alarmingly wide mouth. Shoving the branches savagely out of his way with his hands, he established if he’d remained where he was that dog would have most likely already had him to the ground by his neck. Adrenaline pumped through his blood, pushing his weary body forwards. Jerking his head back for a second, he saw the dogs were behind him. _Shit._ _Come on Arthur run!_ Mentally pushing his legs harder, he leapt frantically over a branch hanging over his path. The bioluminescence of the forest was hardly helping him see now. He thought to reach for his torch but knew fumbling around would slow him down drastically.

A chord of dissonant howls echoed behind him, sounding closer than ever. Giving up pushing the thin arms of trees from his face, Arthur ploughed forwards allowing them to brutally whip his face. Sparing a quick glance behind him, he noticed there were only three dogs, meaning that-

-A force rammed into his side, and a sharp pain seared in his arm. Flailing the arm around, Arthur continued running, crying out in pain. He was not going to die here. He hadn’t even been here a month. He’d be the laughing stock of Camelot. If Valiant and Cedric found out he died now by the hands of what they’d probably call ‘ _rabid terriers’_ \- it would just prove that they had been _right_ all along about him _._ Besides, he was Pendragon. The word _dragon_ wasn’t thrown in there for nothing. The hound luckily had missed its chance to sink its teeth in properly, and lock its complex jaw. To the man’s relief, it fell off him, unable to sustain itself.

Panting, Arthur felt his legs shaking beneath him, heart pounding inside him, body throbbing in exhaustion. He wasn’t stupid. Those bloody dogs hadn’t jumped him again for a reason – they _knew_ he’d tire soon. He simply didn’t have the stamina to gallivant in these forests, especially at this pace. Panic paralysed him when he saw the sight ahead: a fallen tree trunk obscuring the way, at least three metres in height. He faced the approaching dogs, back slumped against the wood, knife held out feebly. He could probably kill about two of them. But as for the rest-

-His knife met the flesh of the first hound, it shrieked in agony. He hit the second one, propelling himself off the trunk. If he was going to die from these rabid terriers, he’d give them a damn good fight. Something unexpected then happened. As the third dog leapt into the air, and Arthur realised his knife was still wedged into the second’s, a jet of purple light flew over his head, hitting the dog in the chest. The other two dogs halted in their tracks, evaluating the situation. One of them daringly inched closer, and collided with an orb of condensed mass. The final dog fled, howling as it went.

Arthur tightened his grip on the knife, allowing the breath he’d held for the past five seconds to be released into a series of heavy pants. That was…that was _magic._ He’d never really seen magic up-close before. He could understand his father’s fear of it. But for a brief moment, he was in awe of it, in awe of how druids could (his eyes flashed in comprehension)-

“-Who’s there?” he called out weakly, a hint of anxiety in his voice.

A few seconds later, the figure that had concealed themselves landed elegantly on the ground beside him. Arthur blinked slowly, _no way. No fucking way!_ Examining the figure in front of him to ensure it wasn’t trickery conjured by poor lighting or _magic,_ he found himself gaping. Yes. It was _definitely_ him- the defiant fool who’d called him a dollophead. Those ears were surely one of a kind, and that stupid neckerchief was unmistakable. He concealed his shock with a sardonic tone, rolling his eyes in disapproval. To think he’d been almost ready to show _appreciation_ towards a druid for saving his life!

“So, you actually _are_ a druid.”

For a moment, Arthur pondered the possibly of this man being deaf, as he walked past obliviously, crouching over one of the dead dogs. The druid’s hands smoothed over the rubbery flesh gently, and his eyes closed. Arthur didn’t really care what this imbecilic moron was doing, but he still leant forward in curiosity, only to have a long string of incoherent, foreign words flung into his ears. Without warning, the druid turned to Arthur, face full of hurt and anger.

“You shouldn’t have _killed_ it. It meant no harm to you.”

Meant no harm?! Arthur guffawed at this statement, his own eyes darkening. No. They only meant to rip him to shreds, suck out the jelly from his eyes and mutilate his face. It was then he realised the pang of upset in the man’s eyes…he was _grieving_ over this monster’s loss?

“For your _information-_ they attacked me-”

The druid stood up abruptly.

“-This was not a fair kill. Its blood will draw many to this site (Arthur dreaded to think what kind of creatures ‘many’ meant.).” his eyes glowed an entrancing gold for a moment, lighting up his features. Arthur held his knife tighter in alarm. Seemingly uncaring of Arthur Pendragon’s reaction, the raven-haired man frowned.

“Once again, the balance has been restored to nature.”

Drawing his eyebrows together, Arthur watched the druid kiss the tips his own fingers and then lower it towards the bodies of the dogs. And then in a peculiar way, the forest was peaceful, as if it were taking the time to mourn over the loss of its friends…which was _absurd_ because forests didn’t have a conscious body. The balance of nature- Arthur scoffed – what did that even _mean?_ All this magic lark seemed to have already thrown him into absurdity. An irate look from the druid indicated he’d said these words aloud, perhaps a little too derisively.

Merlin glowered irately at the blonde man he’d just saved. Refusing to satisfy the young Pendragon with a snarky remark, he began to trudge forwards. He could have easily just flung himself back onto the vine he’d climbed from and left the ignorant idiot to face the darkness alone. But he couldn’t bare the thought of giving the druids a bad name, particularly to the one person who all of a sudden seemed to be _extremely important_ to the future of magic, and his destiny for that matter.

“We should go,” he called behind him, smirking a little at the confusion on Arthur’s face. “They may be small, but they’re determined things. The rest of the pack will definitely be back soon.”

Following ‘John Smith’, it seemed his only likely chance of surviving the night, Arthur strode toward his side. There was quiet for a few paces. Merlin indulging in his own thoughts, knowing it would be disturbed soon by incessant questions, and Arthur- his mind revolving with questions. The first one left his lips, and it took all his might to make it sound mildly civil.

“Enlighten me, are you going to tell me your name? Or will I have to keep guessing?”

“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” he got in response; clearly ‘John’ didn’t want to comply. “the Ræ have no sympathy for lost, bumbling buffoons.”

The _Ræ_ , Arthur assumed, were those magical hybrid mutts chasing him. Which had to mean the bumbling buffoon…

“I wasn’t lost!” he interjected, halting for a second, finger pointed in objection. “And I am not a _bumbling buffoon.”_ he stumbled over a vibrant shrub clumsily on cue. Arthur’s pride remained apparently unharmed.

 _“_ I assure you.” His arms folded indignantly over his chest. “I have everything under control here.”

The nameless male who was slightly further ahead glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. His skin was luminous and radiant against the shimmery glow of the forest, cheekbones gloriously defined. No, Arthur Pendragon really didn’t have ‘everything under control here’. In fact, everything herehad _him_ under control- he was sure even the prat knew that but was just too stubborn to admit it. Shrugging nonchalantly, Merlin examined the forest with contemplating eyes.

“Well,” he said with a shrewd glint in his eyes. “Seeing as you have it _all_ under control, I supposed I should just…” his words trailed off after his body into the forest.

Anxiously, Arthur blundered after the druid, hand outstretched.

“Wait! Where are you going?” the man in front continued walking silently, jumping gracefully over a fallen branch enshrouded in twinkling moss. Arthur followed with less grace. “Why won’t you _answer me?”_

“Because I don’t like you and I think you’re a prat.” There it was again. That inane instinct to insult a man whose father was practically the most powerful man in the world. Arthur shook his head in disbelief at this constant defiance. He’d never known anything like it.

“If you dislike me so much then why didn’t you just let me die back there?” he asked icily, pretending he wasn’t aware of how childish he sounded.

Continuing to weave between obstacles, the druid replied in a monotonous voice, as if bored by Arthur’s presence, or perhaps the accusation against his kind.

“Contrary to what your father has you believe, we are human.”

Arthur struggled to make his way through said obstacles with the same speed and precision, especially with a chunk of his right arm chewed up and bloody – the pain had almost ceased due to numbness now. Watching the druid decrease in size ahead, the blonde huffed in annoyance.

“Will you stop walking so fast?!” he shrieked; a few birds around seemed to rouse from their tranquillity at the abrupt disturbance.

“Did you not hear a _word_ I said? The creatures won’t rest they-”

“-Just.” Arthur wearily hauled in a gasp of air. “ _Slow down._ Wait for me.” He was ashamed to hear his own voice- it was almost pleading.

“Thought you had everything under control-”

Any hint of desperation left Arthur’s voice faded, replaced with fury.

“Will you just shut up!”

Merlin, taken-aback by the hostility in the blonde’s voice, began to slow his pace a little. However, his attitude didn’t change one bit. Just because things he didn’t understand seemed to be at work and destiny _somehow_ required Arthur, did not in any way mean he was going to allow the airhead to dominate him.

“Why should I? These are my forests, not yours.” He said rather immaturely.

Finally managing to catch up to the druid, walking a metre behind at most, Arthur noticed the hint of pride in the voice at that. _His forests_ \- he was giving himself way too much credit here.

“If I recall correctly, you called me a _dollophead_ the first time we met.” His mind went back to that day in the elevator: the day when all of this madness had begun.

The pair lowered their heads a little to walk under the arch of what Arthur thought was a huge tree branch. Inspecting it closer, he realised it was in fact a _root_ of one of the giant trees. He gaped a little whilst processing the druid’s retort.

“I can’t change the fact that you behave like one, parading around in fancy suits and silk shirts-”

Gazing down at his current, meek attire – torn and destroyed by nature – and certainly _not_ a fancy suit or silk shirt, Arthur frowned.

“-far better than what _you’re_ wearing John Smith.” A question that he was surprised had not entered his mind until now fell from his lips. Previously, he had been too engrossed in the druid’s insulting words. But now the motives were more of his concern.

“Why did you break into Camelot? What were you looking for?”

“I already told you, a friend. You’ve got him in the laboratory.” Arthur winced slightly at the frost in the man’s voice. Merlin narrowed his eyes, a swell of rage bubbling inside him. “How can you live with yourself, knowing what your company are doing to hundreds, _thousands_ of druids each day?”

The truth was, Arthur _didn’t_ know what his company were doing to hundreds – or thousands – of druids everyday. Glowering at the back of the druid’s head, he picked up on the personal jibe directed at him.

“It’s not _my_ company-”

“-You’re the only one who can do something about it, you’ve got the power. Yet you don’t. What does that say about you?” he’d heard these words before from Morgana countless times.

Flinging a dangling vine from his face, Arthur scowled.

“We’re hardly acquainted well enough _John Smith_ for you to be throwing accusations my way.”

The druid chuckled darkly.

“I hope we _don’t_ become acquainted. In fact, why am I even talking to you? Everything you stand for is vile and cruel.”

Now that was unfair. It was the allegation that so many had put forward against him since he was old enough to work in the business, even _before_ he had anything to do with it _._ He remembered the first letter; it was from a druidian- he was only seven. Gaius had taken it from him and told him to not to worry. But he had worried. What if the druidian tried to find him, kill him? He stayed up all-night, crying and feeling targeted. After that, the repressed hatred of druidians came in the form of letters, spam emails, junk text messages and nightmares. Gaius had always been good at reassuring Arthur it was nothing to be discomforted with, and used to tell him that one day, he’d understand everything. Arthur wasn’t sure what Gaius had meant back then, and he still didn’t.

“The lab has nothing to do with me, it’s not _my_ department-”

“-placing the blame on someone else,” the druid spat in disgust. “how _Pendragon_ of you.”

He could have chosen _any_ word, any word at all. But he had picked Pendragon, and it hurt a little inside. Fuming, Arthur strode closer to the back of the man, prepared to smack him over the head for his disrespect.

“Look you-”

Maladroitly, he bumped into the man, who had frozen in his tracks. The atmosphere had mutated into one of unease and foreboding nature. Glancing around, Arthur tried to distinguish what had caused the druid to become immobile. Suddenly, his head began to thump agonisingly. Bringing his hand to his temple, Arthur clamped shut his eyes. His body pulsated with intriguing electricity, tingly and exciting.

_Do not move a muscle._

A voice echoed through his head, loud and demanding. Opening his eyes in shock, Arthur stared at the back of the man’s head in front in disbelief. H- _How_ was this happening?

_Yes._

His head received a pang of pain with the voice.

_I am talking to you inside your head._

Arthur opened his mouth, ready to reply. Then he realised he could not. For some reason something had stilled the man. It was then his eyes caught the sight of the beast in front, through the bush ahead. At first he thought it was a lion, a _huge_ lion. The golden fur and mane were synonymous to the creature that lived in his world. There was something terribly wrong with the lion though. It had… _two_ heads. On the creature’s back, was the head of what appeared to be a goat with exaggerated horns, sharply turning and observing the surroundings with beady eyes. And its tail was that of a serpent, a thick scaly serpent with no doubt a venomous bite. The creature’s fur morphed into scales halfway along its back. Behind the goat’s head, trailing towards the serpent tail, jagged spikes stuck out of the spine. Swallowing-hard, Arthur clenched his fists tightly.

 _What is that?!_ he thought, unsure if he would be able to get his voice to the druid’s mind.

It appeared he was successful. The druid from in front was silent for a moment. Narrowing his eyes, Merlin pondered on Arthur’s words. It was almost _unheard_ of for people to pick up this method of communication _this_ quickly. It usually took months, _years_ to acquire the skills needed. The blonde’s demonstration was impressive- _almost._

_A Chimera._

A Chimera _?_ Of course, why _wouldn’t_ mythological beasts be stalking the forests of Albion? It was a magical land after all. Part of Arthur shuddered, praying that there wouldn’t be a Basilisk or something similar to the gigantic snake that had haunted his childhood dreams. The druid’s voice echoed in his mind once more.

_Follow my lead. Do not turn, just slowly start making your way backwards._

Backing away steadily, Arthur’s eyes were locked on the beast. It was clearly a carnivore, a lethal one at that. A small flicker of exhilaration pulsed through him, one that he had been taught to suppress since birth. In the space of a couple of hours he had seen faeries, met Ábilgest, ran away from a cat with wings, ran away from the Ræ, and now he was trying to creep away from a _Chimera_. What other kinds of creatures did they have here? Did they have dragons? Did prehistoric creatures-

-He bit his lip at the sound of a fallen twig crunching beneath his feet. Hopefully it hadn’t been enough to stir the best. The lion lifted its head from the ground, hungry eyes locking straight onto the pair of them predatorily. A loud roar spread through the forest, mixed with a hypnotic rattling hiss and a high-pitched shriek. The sound of the Chimera’s growl _alone_ was enough to bring fear to Arthur.

“RUN!” The druid shouted in horror, hauling Arthur by the arm who seemed incapable of moving his limbs.

Snapping back into survival mode, Arthur sprinted beside the druid. His heart pounded against his ribcage, threatening to lunge into his mouth and bring with it a pool of unpleasant nausea. He struggled to keep up with ‘John’, feeling the sharp stab of exhaustion when gracelessly ducking under the tree root they had passed earlier. The Chimera was close behind them. Merlin thrust his hand behind him and unfocused, weak beams of light spewed behind his back desperately. The Chimera easily dodged the spells, and continued its strong pace. Losing his balance on an even pile of ground, Arthur collided into the other man, sending them sprawling off the relatively clear pathway and down into the undergrowth.

They were rolling downwards quickly gaining speed, unable to reach out and find something to stop the rapid motion. The sound of gushing water overpowered Arthur’s hearing. Vision impaired, the blonde felt the cold water pummel against him. Instead of being drowned in a body of liquid as expected, his face smacked hard against pebbles. A stream. Pain seared through his injured arm. Crying out – despite knowing they were still being hunted – Arthur winced. Two firm hands gripped his shoulders, dragging him viciously back up. There was no time to waste. Eyes glowing golden, the druid searched the area and dived towards what looked like a cave on a slightly higher altitude. Following, Arthur’s eyes sifted back into focus. No. It wasn’t a cave; it was the hollow of a humungous tree.

Pressing back against the damp wood inside, the pair panted. The sound of the Chimera seemed to be getting further away, indicating it had missed their stunt and assumed they had continued forwards. Pushing a shaky hand against his sweaty forehead, Arthur turned to the druid.

“Would now be a good time to ask for your real name?”

Catching his breath back, the raven-haired man watched the young Pendragon cautiously. Then, he flew himself back onto his feet, peering outside. Beckoning Arthur to follow, he clung onto the deep grooves within the bark.

“I’m Merlin.” He finally said with some reluctance, and Arthur felt a strange relief wash over him.

A smile tugged at his lips. Merlin. No doubt named after the Merlin bird, like his mother’s necklace around his neck. Clambering up after the druid _– Merlin –_ he pushed his hand into the wood.

“Well, _Merlin,_ now that we’re properly acquainted-”

Glancing back at the man, Merlin smirked.

“-I’m able to throw those accusations at you again?”

Oh. The _cheek_ of this man. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur pursed his lips together in irritation. The relief faded.

“You think you’re funny.” He stated bluntly.

“Moderately-”

-And then there were claws and teeth and growling and a sudden panic as the beast leapt out from the forest rapidly. Merlin managed to push the Chimera down to the ground with a spell, giving Arthur a few seconds to jump across the damaged bark. The slight advantage of height seemed to be working. Without even considering Arthur’s state, Merlin began to climb the tree expertly, reaching out for one of the thick lower branches. The quicker they climbed, the safer they would be. Swallowing-hard, the blonde watched and slowly pushed himself up onto the trunk of the tree. The grip wasn’t a concern; there were plenty of nooks and grooves to hold onto. It was the raging beast below that was the problem.

“It can’t reach us if we’re in the trees.” Merlin called down, advancing to the next available branch.

But it was all too much and too overwhelming and Arthur found he couldn’t bring his _stupid_ injured muscles to function properly. The creature’s eyes were fixated on Arthur, now separated from Merlin – and by far the easiest target. It jumped onto its hind legs, jaw encasing one of his feet. Tightening his grip on the branch, Arthur tried to shake his leg free. This creature had a far more powerful jaw than the tiny Ræ he had encountered previously. His grip on the branch subsided within seconds of the tugging, allowing the beast to drag him lower down the tree. Refusing to be defeated this easy, Arthur’s fingers scraped against the bark, wood chipping his fingertips.

“Arthur!” a voice from above shrieked.

Arthur was unsure how, everything began to become a little bit hazy, but he was able to free his leg from the jaws of the Chimera. He was also unsure of how the hell the agile Merlin was back down at this level _sooo quickly_ , reaching out a hand from the branch above. Immediately, he wasted no time and sunk his nails into the hand, afraid if he didn’t physically cling on that his body would let go and submit to oblivion.

“For god’s sake don’t let go!” he shouted to Merlin.

Pulling him up to the next branch with strength that Arthur was certain that lanky body couldn’t possibly have – then he remembered _magic –_ Merlin drew his eyebrows together.

“Do you really have that little faith in me?” he asked.

Surprisingly, Arthur realised he _did_ have faith in this man. He had saved him _twice_ now from impending death tonight. Sparing a glance down at the Chimera who trudged back and forth in annoyance at missing its targets, Arthur sighed. At least they were safe from the beast. Nonetheless, he would not allow himself to relax until the Chimera was out of sight and he was secured safely in the trees.

“Considering you hate me and everything I stand for – _yes!”_

The pair climbed up a couple more branches, reaching what Arthur suspected was the lower canopy of the lush forest – where he and Leon’s team most probably _should_ have been as opposed to the floor that was littered with danger. The ground was no longer visible; beds of leaves clouded the view. Finally, they reached a gigantic branch and nestled against it. The moonlight seeped through the forest up here, and gave enough luminosity to see comfortably in the darkness. Leaning back on the tree, eyes clamped shut, Arthur felt all the pain he had attempted to block out attack him violently. Merlin frowned, crouching over the blonde.

“You’re badly wounded. We’ll have to rest here for tonight. I can cleanse the wound with my magic but I can’t completely heal it.” For a moment he’s gone and then as Arthur slips in and out of a blurred consciousness, he feels a soft velvet texture wrap around his arms in unison with the druid muttering magical words. The pain literally _oozes_ out of his body, and he finds himself groaning in approval.

Pressing a hand gently against the forehead, Merlin sighs and verbally begins a stern scolding. _God._ These people can be so ignorant.

“What did you think you were doing, roaming around the forest at night alone like a complete idiot! And with a _torch_ of all things?(he grabbed the flashlight in Arthur’s pocket and tossed it out the tree absent-mindedly.) Were you _purposefully_ offering yourself up as a meal?”

Opening his eyes, suddenly feeling a whole lot better, Arthur laughed bitterly. Yes, of _course_. He was just waltzing around the forest for _fun._

“I could ask you the same thing. It’s a bit late for a stroll in the forest isn’t it?”

Merlin’s eyes pervaded surprise at this retort. Continuing to gently pat Arthur’s brow with a leaf saturated in what felt like water, he averted his gaze. His family were going to be _fuming,_ sick with apprehension. Yet again, he had wandered off, not stating where he was going or when he was returning. But it wasn’t like he could tell them the _truth,_ that he had somehow – in a way he couldn’t explain – sensed Arthur Pendragon was in trouble and there was this unfamiliar need burning inside to find him. Pressing his eyes shut, Merlin focused his mind.

_I’m okay. Expect me home tomorrow. Don’t ask questions._

He hoped it would reach those who needed to hear it, particularly his mother and father. Arthur, who established he was not getting an answer, broke him from his trance.

“My transporter.” Arthur held out the battered electronic device in his hands. “It’s broken. Gwaine (Merlin’s ear perked up in recognition of the name), Leon, Lancelot and I were ambushed by some sort of giant cat… _thingy_ -”

“-you didn’t…” Merlin swallowed, eyes gleaming with sorrow. “You didn’t hurt her did you?”

There it was again! More concern for the absurd, _weird_ creatures that lived here then for another human being. Arthur noted that Merlin had called it a _her,_ suggesting that…

“…you _know_ that thing?!” he spluttered in alarm.

Merlin barred his white teeth in a primitive warning. Through gritted teeth, he replied, crossing his legs on the large branch.

“Her name is Freya, she a druid from the Serepolis clan. She was cursed,” He sighed, head bowed. “many years ago by another druid to become a Bastet when the sun sets.” A chuckle escaped his lips, a sad smile dusting over his face. “Of _course_ she’d come and chase off the unwanted tourists.”

Tourists. The blonde lifted his head from its resting position; moonlight sprinkled over his face.

“We are not _tourists_. We’re here to-”

Merlin turned his head to Arthur savagely, eyes vindictive.

 “-I know what you’re here for you condescending prat. I’m not stupid.”

Throughout this sentence, the ferocity in the voice had shifted into a slight quiver. Arthur watched Merlin distance himself from the blonde, sitting on the opposite end of the branch, back facing him, knees drawn in. The druids, it seemed, were still unclear of the motives of Camelot Enterprise. From their perspective, he could _slightly_ understand Merlin’s hostility. They had barged in and set up their large base. The people who had persecuted the druids and destroyed any chance of either race living in harmony had invaded their sanctuary. The people who had mercilessly stripped their world of its resources, left scars in the earth were now in a paradise rich with minerals, untouched reserves.

“I assure you; no harm will come to the druids.” It was Arthur’s secret job to guarantee this after all. “All we seek is a peaceful agreement, so that we can extract oil from _uninhabited_ areas-“

Merlin shook his head, not buying his words. To be truthful, Arthur was sure if he was in the same position, he wouldn’t either. He already knew his father had no intention of extracting from just uninhabited areas.

“-We know your kind. You won’t stop. Once you have a taste it won’t suffice, you’ll want more. It’s a tragic flaw of humanity. Yet you never learn. Uninhabited areas will become inhabited areas, extraction will become expansion, peace will become war-”

“-And I suppose the druids are so _unflawed-”_ Arthur spat, obscuring his acceptance that the words may well be true, and Merlin was a lot smarter than he’d first given credit.

“-We have our flaws.” Merlin shot back, startling the blonde at this admission.

He turned his body to face Arthur, eyes intensely locking onto the blonde’s.

“But we are peaceful people. We live by the principles and morals that your kind forgot many years ago…”

“You think you’re so much better than us don’t you?”

“Look,” the raven-haired druid said in a weary voice, eyelids closing.

He positioned himself beside Arthur reluctantly, head resting on the tree.

“I’m going to sleep,” he mumbled through a yawn. “we can chat some more in the morning.”

Arthur translated this to: we can argue some more tomorrow but right now you’re pissing me off and I want to rest. Reluctantly, not wanting to succumb to sleep – what if there were monsters up here too? ­– Arthur pressed shut his eyes. The adrenaline that had pushed his fatigued body onwards constantly for the past couple of hours faded, leaving behind a deep ache in his muscles, and the need for sleep. Wearily, he rested his head against a smooth surface, too drained to check or care if it was the druid’s shoulder. Within a few minutes of heavy breathing and relaxation, Arthur faded into the world of dreams.

Opening his eyes for a second, Merlin gazed down to see Arthur’s head resting against him. For a moment, the young Pendragon looked so vulnerable, so human- so unlike everything the Pendragon’s were known to be. Perhaps Merlin was being unfair, judging him for actions that were not his own. Musing on these thoughts, he gazed out into the horizon of forest. It was so silent here; so peaceful. Leaning his head cautiously on Arthur’s, Merlin frowned. He was unsure what tomorrow would bring – only that he would have to present Arthur to the Ealdor clan and finally reveal his vision to his father.

The terrible things he saw in those crystals kept him awake most nights.

But tonight, the warmth of this curious enemy, and tranquillity of the upper forest, was enough to clear his mind and send him into a profound sleep against the ancient tree.


	11. Chapter 11

From this distance, Ealdor was stunning. The sun had barely risen over the pink skies, shedding a dim glow on the clearing below the trees. It was a large area, recognisable even from their height in the trees. Arthur could make out people vaguely, small dots walking around the grassy land, littered with rocks and of course the Crystal Cave. The Crystal Cave was a vast landmark, a dark whole that swallowed up light. Though he could see the insides of it were sparkling hypnotically, some of the more delicate Crystals surfacing at the front of the cave. Euphoria washed over him, alongside shock that this was real, that he was getting closer towards one of the largest druid clans in Albion.

Merlin was walking silently ahead of him, not going out of his way to engage in conversation with him. But then again, neither was he. They had both made their views on each other clear. Yet that didn’t stop Arthur from _eventually_ succumbing to this impulsive urge to just annoy and tease the big-eared, clumsy druid.

“Are we there yet?” he called out, a childish tone laced in his voice.

Merlin didn’t bother turning around, he strode forwards on the tree branches.

“You have eyes don’t you?” he shot back, earning a satisfied grin from Arthur when he detected the annoyance in that voice.

For now, whilst he was out of contact with his father or any of his friends, Arthur figured he should embrace this moment, _enjoy_ himself. How better to enjoy himself than give ‘John Smith’ a taste of his own medicine? His grin faded the moment Merlin spun around to face him, tossing him a leafy vine. Before he could question, Merlin leapt onto his own vine, swinging across the gap to the next colossal tree. A flicker of amusement flashed over his face as he watched a dumbfounded Arthur cling to the vine.

“You can’t expect me to… _leap_ across this gap with no kind of harness!” he yelled across from the other tree, earning a chuckle from Merlin.

“Come on, it’s easy. All you have to do is push off and hold on.”

Merlin made it sound _so_ easy that Arthur almost jumped blindly to his death there and then. Releasing the vine from his grip, he stubbornly folded his arms across his chest. No. He was not doing this.

“I’m not doing it.” He said defiantly, the ache in his injured arm relieved he had agreed to sit this one out.

“You’re such a spoilt brat!” Merlin shouted from the other side, swinging back over gruffly to Arthur’s side.

Gripping the vine tightly, Merlin sighed. When he turned around to see Arthur standing motionless and confused, he rolled his eyes.

“Come on then!” he said in a huff, Arthur raised his eyebrows questioningly.  Merlin didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so _slow_ and _stupid_ in his entire life. Extending his hand out towards the blonde he frowned. Arthur understood the gesture, and seemed just as displeased as Merlin was about this. Noticing this, Merlin laughed to himself, throwing the vine in Arthur’s direction.

“This is the only way to get across, and you’re too scared to do it by yourself-”

“-I’m _not_ scared.” Arthur snapped, clutching the vine in his hands steadily. His words were an obvious bluff, for he didn’t attempt to leave.

“ _Sure,_ and I’m not a druid.” Merlin sarcastically replied wrapping his arms around Arthur’s tone torso. Arthur stiffened a little, reluctant to push off. Acting as if holding onto Arthur Pendragon was an everyday occurrence, Merlin groaned.

“No, I won’t let you fall. Now just go, we don’t have all day.” He said, voice hushed a little, mouth brushing against the shell of Arthur’s ear.

When Arthur didn’t move, Merlin – a little bit fed up with all of this nonsense – released himself from Arthur’s grip. His eyes flashed gold and before Arthur could question what he was doing, he gave Arthur a mighty shove off the tree. To say Arthur _screamed_ would have been totally unfair...it was more of a wail.

“Merlin _Merlin!_ Why did you do that! Why did you-!”

Clinging onto the vine for dear life, Arthur stupidly looked down and well – he couldn’t even see the fucking ground, they were _that high up._ It was imminent death. Panic flared through him, Merlin thought it was hilarious. The vine lost its momentum as Arthur failed to respond to it, leaving him dangling in the middle of each tree helplessly. Gazing over at the druid, Arthur scowled, heart racing. Rational fear swept over him. Merlin burst into laughter.

“ _This-“_ Arthur let go with one hand and pointed venomously at Merlin. Then his eyes widened as the vine titled a little to one side and he instantly clung back onto it. He didn’t hesitant to shoot the druid a malicious glower once he was sure he was secure. To say he looked completely ridiculous was an understatement.Merlin cupped his mouth, burying his laughter into his hand.

“This is not a laughing matter! I’m going to die. Oh shit, _I’m going to die.”_ Arthur shut his eyes for a moment, trying not to remember that he couldn’t see the ground. It was fine, _just fine._ If Merlin could do this, then so could he. Reaching for a nearby vine, Merlin swung himself expertly towards Arthur, eyes crinkled.

“Don’t be so _melodramatic._ ” He said, jumping onto Arthur’s vine. He slid himself down, facing Arthur on the other side.

“I don’t know if _you_ know but you can’t see the ground from here.” Arthur muttered, casting one more look below.

Chuckling, Merlin looked down too.

“That’s the fun of it though, right?”

Arthur shot him an incredulous look. This druid was _insane,_ beyond insane, _psychotic._ Effortlessly, Merlin swung the vine back into motion. Like a pendulum, it wavered back and forth. Once momentum was built again, and they were rocking a little _too_ quickly for Arthur’s liking, Merlin steered them effortlessly to the other side. Arthur leapt off the vine without a second thought, landing clumsily on the thick branch.

“We’re going to have to practice that.” Merlin said, gracefully landing on the tree. He continued to walk forwards. With a weary sigh, Arthur got to his feet and followed, secretly praying for no more vines.

It all was fine and dandy (no vines and a fairly _civil_ conversation with Merlin), until Arthur actually _entered_ Ealdor. A brown-haired man was the first to react. Face reddened with fury, he walked towards Merlin. He made no effort to acknowledge Arthur. Grimacing, Merlin continued his steady pace, beckoning Arthur to follow him closely; ignoring the menacing glares pummeling their way. Sure he was Emrys, but that didn’t _excuse_ the fact that a Pendragon was now standing on holy, magical ground. Arthur watched as the man beside Merlin snapped, pointing a finger at him in an accusatory manner.

“What the fuck is _he_ doing here?”

Halting in his tracks, Merlin sighed. Reasoning with Will was futile; he had made his views and opinions of that world clear. Raising his eyebrows, Will  gestured once more to the intruder.

“Merlin answer me, _what_ is he doing here?”

By now a large group of druids had surrounded Merlin and his new guest. Arthur pretended he wasn’t slightly unnerved by the vicious eyes, the gritted teeth, the upset and _rage_ emanating from these people. Instead, he offered one of them a small smile.

“Greetings!” he chimed rather inanely, resulting in them lurching forwards. Merlin narrowed his eyes, holding his hand out in front of Arthur fiercely. The druid instantly backed off. But that didn’t stop Will from grabbing him by the shirt and hauling him backwards. A few druids sneered, some gasped.

“You dare stand on this ground, after _everything_ your company has done.” He spat. Instinctively, Arthur broadened his shoulders and folded his toned arms across his chest. He ignored the twinge of pain in his injured arm, feigning confidence. Biting his lip, Merlin stepped between the pair quickly, facing his old friend.

“Will-“ the furious man in front of him raised his hand, displaying his open palm to Merlin lividly.

“-I can’t believe you did this.” Merlin remained silent, averting his eyes to the ground for a second pensively. He had expected some hostility towards Arthur, but nothing to this degree. Doubt hovered in his mind, how on earth could the Crystals be right about _this?_ Maybe he’d misread the whole thing.

“Move out the way Merlin he deserves to die.” Will’s tone was vacant and simple, earning a few murmurs of agreement from surrounding druids.

At these words Arthur clenched his jaw, reaching immediately for the gun in his pocket. Without thought he held it up with his shaking hands. His retaliation only made matters worse, stirring the druids around into a wild frenzy of shouts and jibes. Will scoffed, outstretching his hand in a peculiar fashion, a way that no doubt would propel magic towards the blonde.

“That’s not for you to decide Will, this is a matter for my father.”

Shooting Arthur a venomous glower, Merlin inhaled a deep breath before turning back to his friend.

_Why did you have to get your weapon out you Clotpole! Put it away and let me handle this._

Obediently, Arthur put the gun back into his pocket, a little wounded at the word Clotpole. Being unarmed didn’t make him any less alert, less aware of how outnumbered he was in this alien world. The crowd could take him _and_ Merlin down in less than a few seconds he was almost certain. Only almost certain because there was this presence about Merlin, the other druids seemed to… _revere_ him. For reasons he couldn’t understand, he felt protected – and a little cowardly, hiding behind a _druid._ Merlin swallowed-hard, raising his own hand, but in a gesture of peace rather than aggression.

“I can explain _all of this_ -“

“-Then go ahead _._ ” Will hissed, eyes locked on Arthur with profound resentment.

“Only if you stop being _an ass_.” A small smirk crept over Merlin’s lips as he titled his head.

He knew his friend was bluffing about using magic. He wasn’t the most skilled at magic, too blinded by his emotions to fully focus on what he wanted to achieve. Merlin had told him this many times, but it merely revealed another one of Will’s weaknesses: the inability to listen. Irritably, Will clenched his palm, lowering it to his side in defeat. A new voice arose, parting the crowd instantly. Arthur noticed Merlin’s composure change to a more formal one. For a second it was as if Arthur was looking upon himself, desperately trying to please his own father.

“You know their kind are forbidden from here.” Balinor said gravely, meeting his son’s eyes intensely.

“Father, this is Arthur Pendragon – son of Uther.” He replied, watching the expression of the druid around morph into a dark realisation, confirming the suspicions of others. The few who had recognised him intensified their glares, disturbed by his presence. Arthur shuffled uncomfortably under the scrutiny he was receiving.

Balinor’s eyes widened, he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder gently.

“…Are you certain?”

Nodding, Merlin lowered his voice a little and leant towards his father. The words were muffled to all other ears, and Arthur felt _more_ than a little paranoid at this secret exchange clearly about _him._ The leader of the clan, Merlin’s father, spared one glance at Arthur. Then, he faced the people nearby.

“May I remind you all that we are peaceful people, and we will not be blinded by the crimes of the Pendragon’s to commit crimes of our own. Nobody is to touch Arthur Pendragon during his stay here. Merlin and I will discuss this matter in private. _Gwenevere,”_ at this name a beautiful cinnamon-skinned woman made her way compliantly through the crowd. She was dressed in a delicate, modest sapphire gown, hair decorated in flowers and small jewels. Arthur found no other response other than to just stare at her. She smiled ruefully back at him, clearly troubled by his appearance.

“Ensure that his wounds are fully healed.” Gwenevere bowed her head in return. She gazed over to Merlin nervously; he offered her a comforting smile, relieving her of most of her anxiety. Then Gwenevere averted her attention to Arthur Pendragon, and beckoned him to follow her through the crowd of displeased druids. If somebody had told you Arthur was practically _running_ after her – definitely _not_ because he was a bit frightened of the menacing druids staring him down – well, that was a complete an utter lie.

**♦☼♦**

One thing Arthur had observed during his short time in Ealdor, was that there were barely _any_ man-made structures here. The People were content living amongst the grand clearing, surrounded by strident trees, and the large majestic Crystal Cave. There appeared to be only a handful of small homes, all built from natural materials, small and sparse in nature. They were kept clear from the main settlement, in the corners of to the edges of important places. He was sat in one of them now, on an extremely uncomfortable mattress, barely high enough for Gwenevere to tend to his wounds properly. The woman was sat on the floor beside the mattress, an array of herbs and jars scattered around her presence.

This had surprised him greatly. Ten minutes later, he was even more baffled by the fact the calm and compassionate woman had not used any form of magic to aid her healing procedures. She was now carefully examining the open gash on his arm.

“Well,” she said gently, scrutinising the wound. “You’re very lucky, Merlin’s magic has kept the wound relatively clean, prevented any risk of infection.”

He winced a little as she leant towards his, prodding it with a mixture of herbs. Merlin. So he had once again done something for him, even if it was indiscreet. The word magic kindled the questions in his mind. _Merlin_ had used magic on his wounds, Gwenevere hadn’t. Arthur gazed down at her curiously.

“You’re not using magic to check over my wounds.” He stated bluntly, a little breathless and dizzy from the impact of his injuries. Arthur was never one to complain, especially about his own pain. The full extent of his physical pain dawned upon him now, sending an unpleasant wave of nausea up his spine.

Gwenevere smiled weakly, but her eyes did not meet his. She kept her eyes low, feigning normalcy to his words. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur studied her persona carefully. His words seemed to have had some effect on her, whether she’d admit it aloud or not. Then it hit him.

“You’re like me.”

Gwenevere lifted her head, meeting his eyes slowly. Her deep brown eyes glimmered against the dim candlelight, sunlight trickling through the small window adding an enchanting glow to her dark skin. She studied his face inquisitively, putting the cloth down for a moment.

“Magic alone does not heal wounds,” she replied. “Yes, I am like you. I was not born a druid.”

Confusion spread across Arthur’s face, and he stumbled to sit up. Questions raced through his mind. How was she even here if she was not born a druid? Albion had been hidden from their kind with ancient magic. He discovered a moment too late that sitting up was a terrible idea. Hissing at the sting, he grimaced. Gwenevere leant forwards and gently helped him back down to his former position. Regaining the ability to speak, Arthur drew his eyebrows together.

“You’re a Druidian. Yet,” sparing an unimpressed glance to the room around he raised his eyebrows. “This is your home?”

He watched a newfound, surprising resilience flare through her eyes, alongside a slight twinge of irritation at his insulting words. Reaching for the cloth, she dabbed it back against his open wound before dipping it into the wooden bowl by her feet. For a moment she said nothing, clearly unsure whether to answer his question truthfully. But honesty was one of Gwen’s most valuable, admirable traits, and she wasn’t going to jepordise her usual character for the sake of one man, especially this one.

“Many years ago, I rescued Will from your company’s special forces,” Arthur briefly recalled the aggressive druid who had wanted to kill him when he and Merlin arrived earlier. Then he took in the full sentence and became suddenly very interested in all of this. Gwenevere hardly looked like a warrior. He had heard about the vicious nature of the special forces, it would take _a lot_ to rescue someone from them.

“They were just about to put the magical chains on him. I was never an active Druidian, I just believed that what Camelot was doing was wrong. I’d never _met_ a druid before. But when saw _him,”_ She sighed,

“Well he looked _just like me_ , only he could do things I couldn’t. That made no difference to me. So,” pressing the cloth against his arm, she met his eyes cautiously, as if she expected Arthur to personally punish her for disobeying the law. Arthur beckoned her to continue with his attentive gaze, anxious to hear the rest of the story, aware that she was probably missing out many details because he was a Pendragon.

“I saved him. We escaped. I harboured him in my home secretly, nursing him back to full health. After a week or so, the neighbours began to notice, and they called the special forces themselves. William was on the brink of recovery. He had just enough magic to get himself back to Albion.”

Arthur picked up on the subtle message in her words, _himself._ No. Surely no-one could be this selfless? Giving up their life for a _druid_ they had just met? Unaware he was gaping, Arthur waited for her to continue.

“I told him he _had_ to go. They would take him to the lab, _kill him_ eventually.” Holding the cloth over his arm, she laughed at the old memories. “Will promised he’d come back for me. But for the meantime I had to hide somewhere. I found shelter in the old underground tunnels with other Druidians. I…” a sigh escaped her lips, as if she was beginning to find it difficult retelling her story.

“I changed my name to Gwenevere. I had to slip off the radar.”

So not only had she given up a normal life for a druid, she had changed her _identity_ for one also? This was one of the highest forms of Druidian treason. And yet all Arthur _Pendragon_ felt at this moment was unwavering respect for her and her evident bravery.

“Will came back for me as soon as he could. It took a while for him to find me, but he did. Then I came to Ealdor, met Merlin.” A fond smile lit up her face, her eyes spewing irrepressible affection.

“Hunith and Balinor accepted me into the clan, and Gwenevere just…” reaching for the bandages, woven out of natural materials, she lowered her gaze.

“Gwen was the woman I was destined to become.”

She tightened the bandage around his around, fastening the fabric together with expert precision and skill.

“You don’t regret your decision?” Arthur asked, in awe and yet overwhelmed with bewilderment at her amazing story.

“I regret that I didn’t do the right thing sooner.” She said gently, once again hesitant to meet his eyes in fear she had overstepped a boundary. The right thing, Arthur pondered on her words silently.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” he asked pryingly, watching her put the herbs back onto the wooden shelves.

Turning to him rapidly, she seemed shocked by his words.

“No never. This is my home, my life. I love Ealdor, the druids. They are kind, thoughtful and peaceful. I have never felt more at one with myself, or with others…” flapping her hand across the air she ducked her head down in embarrassment, realising she may have replied a bit too passionately for a Pendragon’s liking.

“…You have to _be here_ , live with the druidsto understand how it feels.” Then her eyes widened and she comically held her hands up in front of her. Part of her had forgotten that it was this very matter Merlin and Balinor were discussing now for Arthur. The young Pendragon felt a swell of amusement burst in his throat.

“Sorry.” She stammered, fiddling with her hands once more. Arthur suddenly found it incredibly endearing, a crooked smile sweeping over his face.

Making her way to the door, she picked up the bottom of her sapphire gown.

“Gwenevere,” Arthur called out, freezing her in her tracks. “Thank you.”

She shot him one of those cautious smiles, and leant on the doorway for a moment. It seemed she was about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead she offered him a small tilt of her head, and shut the door behind her softly. Gazing around the empty, small room – damp and dull – Arthur exhaled. What on _earth_ was he going to do for the rest of the day? He couldn’t exactly _move_ or _go anywhere._ Part of him thought about calling Merlin, but he was sure the druid was very busy discussing his fate with his father. Studying the ceiling, he counted the cracks with his eyes, tracing over the features. Within two minutes, he had fallen into a peaceful dream world encompassing the two things his father had always prohibited: imagination and magic.

**♦☼♦**

Merlin sat down beside his father amongst the safety of the tree’s arms. The sun was high in the sky, radiating down upon their skin. It created hypnotic shadows in the forest, beautifully intricate and complex patterns painted across the ground below their dangling feet. Neither of them had spoken on their way to the trees. Part of Merlin sensed that his father was angry about all of this. Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair.

“In the crystals,” he began slowly. “I saw Arthur. He was one of us…I…” gazing over to his father’s vacant expression, he grimaced. “I think he’s here to learn our ways.”

Balinor shuffled on the tree, remaining silent for a moment whilst chewing over the words offered to him.

“I am not sure about this Merlin. Welcoming him of _all_ people into our clan does not seem like a good idea.”

Hurt flashed across Merlin’s eyes, hurt from the fact his father didn’t _trust_ his judgement. Had his father not heard him? This was not a matter of a stranger being able to stay, Arthur had been prominent in his _vision,_ the Crystals had been littered with his handsome face. Clasping his hands together, Merlin bit his lip. He knew he could not overrule his father’s words, or his decision. But something _in his gut,_ since Arthur had arrived here was throbbing. Something had changed in his magic too. He hadn’t told anyone. It almost felt _completed_ , finally ready to progress to the optimum stage of power and focus. Arthur Pendragon was his destiny. Yet to admit that to anyone – even to himself – it sounded absurd. He was unsure his father would understand this foreign feeling burnishing inside him.

“You…you doubt the Crystals?” _You doubt me_ was the whispered implication behind the forced words.

“No,” Balinor replied quickly, not idle to the silent message his son was conveying. “I doubt his kind.”

Silence. Merlin shrugged in agreement, in understanding. He had rapidly overlooked the crimes of their kind, for a supposed _destiny_ with the biggest clotpole he’d ever met. And the truth was, his kind had tortured, murdered druids, they _still were._ His kind condemned druids. His _father_ had sent Gaius to the laboratory. They destroyed any hope of a New Age, or a New Peace. Stroking his beard, a mix of jet-black and grey, Balinor stirred over the crimes of his kind silently also. His next words were unexpected.

“I will discuss this with the Elders tonight.” A ridiculous surge of _something_ spread through Merlin’s chest at these words. “Perhaps while he’s here we can study him. We need to know all we can about Uther and his plans for Albion.”

“Arthur told me they only wish to mine in uninhabited areas and cause little disruption.” Merlin almost laughed at how make-belief and serene this sounded. “It seems at the moment they come in peace.”

Standing, Balinor dwelled in a pensive, uncertain state for a few moments, eyes frosted over with unreadable emotions. He was good at blockading his thoughts and emotions when appropriate. Merlin made note to ask his father to teach him how he did it one day. Smiling softly at his son, Balinor reached out for his shoulder. It was a common gesture, used so often by his father that Merlin rarely ever noticed it occurred anymore.

“We must prepare to deliver the news to the druids.”

**♦☼♦**

Having left the house after hours of resting, with handmade bandages wrapped around his arms and cuts cleansed with Gwenevere’s gentle compassion, Arthur quickly discovered that not everybody had the same level of tolerance for him. Part of him was expecting some kind of magical ambush, judging from the way a few of the loitering teenage druids were looking at him. Swallowing-hard, he strode through the clearing, eyes low to decrease chance of any conflict.

Sure, the druids were capable of magic. But he had observed that many of them were lanky and lacking in real muscle. A rare few, the supreme warriors, would be a physical match for him. The primal horn blared through the air, instigating rapid movement. Arthur followed the swarm of druids to the edge of the clearing, assuming this summoning had something to do with him. The crowd unwillingly parted for him. A few druids leant too close into his personal space, a few pushed him angrily. It took a lot of self-restraint to not lash out and retaliate to their taunts.

Standing beneath the low tree, its translucent turquoise leaves painting patterns on their skin, stood Hunith, Balinor and their son Merlin. Their change of clothing indicated the importance of this summoning, and their status in the clan. Hunith was dressed in a striking red gown, hair tied back in a complex system of weaving and beautiful plaits. Her husband was dressed in serious long blue robes, matted black hair falling evenly beside his ageing face. Arthur tried not to allow his mouth to hang open at the sight of Merlin. He looked inexplicably different to normal.

He was dressed in a crimson jacket, delicately sewn, and a blue neckerchief was tucked into the front of it. Amidst his dark hair a subtle golden headdress, weaved eloquently with intricate patters, sparkled. In his right hand was a long wooden staff, its neck was coiled in a hypnotic fashion. An ochre sphere radiated from the top of the staff. Merlin looked dashing, magical, _powerful._ It was hard to believe that this was the same, bumbling buffoon he had the misfortunate of meeting yesterday. Despite his aura, there was an uncomfortable, fazed glint in the man’s eyes, gesturing he disliked this formal clothing and wanted nothing more but to huddle into that tattered brown jacket and stand amongst the crowd.

Arthur met Balinor’s stern gaze, awaiting his verdict. The druid’s had not attempted to conceal their displeasure towards the newcomer, or what they thought his fate should be. Whilst Gwenevere had healed him, he assumed Merlin and Balinor had been in deep discussion, pondering over what their next course of action should be.

“We have not yet come to a firm decision.” He said slowly, gesturing towards the front line of aged druids in the crowd. They narrowed their eyes sceptically towards Arthur. “The elders and I will need to discuss this further. By sunrise we will have made our choice.”

Frowning, Arthur shot a glance towards the seven grey-haired druids standing at the front of the crowd. Merlin had mentioned the Elders on the way here, and even _he_ seemed a little wary of them. They were all dressed in similar murky brown and deep violent robes, holding a bland wooden staff in their hands. Their faces had withstood the test of time, some corroded more than others by life. Arthur observed that out of the seven Elders, four were male and three were female. Overall, they appeared hostile towards him, cold in nature. Part of him was expecting the Elders to at least introduce themselves to him. However, it seemed a Pendragon was not worthy of such a gesture. Arthur gazed over to Merlin cautiously, who raised his eyebrows at him, clearly a little amused by his pallid complexion. This expression faded once Balinor’s voice continued.

“Merlin will escort you back here tomorrow morning, where we will reveal our verdict-“

“-And if I’m not accepted?” a few druids gasped at Arthur’s audacity to interrupt Balinor. Arthur took a step forwards boldly. He was not going to be manipulated by these druids – he was a Pendragon, heart of a lion, blood of a dragon. “Then tell me what’s the point of bringing me back here?”

Rescuing Arthur from an evident scolding for lack of respect, Merlin raised his head and spoke quickly.

“ _Whatever_ the verdict is,” _Prat_ was the unspoken insult radiating from his eyes. “We will need to ask you a series of questions.” His corporate tone sounded alien, and a little forced.

Begrudgingly, Arthur nodded in understanding. It seemed that anything he said in the presence of the Clan and the Elders was merely making his situation worse. Remaining silent was the best option. The crowd slowly began to disjoin, druids returned to their former business gesturing the summoning was officially over. Balinor turned to his son and then back to Arthur.

“Merlin will take you back home.”

Dramatically, Merlin rolled his eyes, unable to conceal his irritation at these words. In one swift action, he placed the formal staff on the ground without a word. Gruffly he strode down the cobbled steps towards Arthur. He didn’t stop when he got to Arthur; he merely continued walking. Arthur frowned, and followed the druid silently. They waked through the darkening forest in silence for a few more moments, until the subdued druid sighed. The delicate headdress on his head glinted enigmatically. It was apparent he had forgotten he was even still wearing it.

“I don’t know _why_ I didn’t just take you back to where you belonged in the first place.” He whispered, mostly to himself than to Arthur. He had hardly expected it to cause all this trouble.

Pushing a branch from his face, Arthur grimaced. It wasn’t as if _he_ was completely content with the situation either.

“Well, I’m sorry to have _inconvenienced_ you _Mer_ lin.” No response. Raking a hand through his blonde hair, Arthur gritted his teeth. There was just no _reasoning_ with Merlin. He seemed to be unfairly blaming him for all of his father’s wrongdoing. Granted Arthur had power to make change and hadn’t. But it was more complex than that. This was not a one-dimensional problem. It also was not only _his_ problem, or his _only_ problem. By the time he had formulated a strategic comeback to Merlin, he noticed the druid had stopped walking, muttering words in a foreign tongue to himself.

“What are you-?”

Grabbing Arthur by his arm, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold suddenly.

“Quicker to teleport.” He murmured, not bothering to supply Arthur with a fully constructed sentence.

A confusing blur of disorientating colours and alarming brightness overpowered their vision. Surroundings were skewed and squashed, becoming nothing but a memory in the past. Then a dark obscurity shadowed over the explosion of colours, sending them into a dizzy darkness. They hovered in darkness for a few seconds, before light gradually seeped back into focus. Abruptly, the pair were cast down into the undergrowth, outside of the Camelot Base. Still fazed by the rapid travelling, far more efficient than the Camelot transporters, Arthur held a hand to his throbbing head. Merlin, unaffected, dove into his pockets.

“I fixed your…thing by the way.” He said bluntly, handing the teleporting device over to Arthur.

Studying the perfectly reassembled device in his hands, the blonde – too disorientated to fully comprehend normal human interaction – attempted to balance himself. Yes, he probably should have _at least_ said thank you. But he didn’t. Instead his mouth opened and out came a simple and confused ‘oh’. Merlin seemed apathetic to his response. He cast a curious glance towards the large building, clearly interested with what lay inside. Arthur made his way out of the forest, standing in the clearing. Merlin wisely remained in the shelter of the trees, knowing it was too dangerous to step into the Camelot grounds.

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning.” He said, allowing the concealed fatigue to seep though his tone.

Arthur gazed over to Camelot Base, wondering just how long he had been gone for. Time seemed to be of less importance to the druids, their lives were governed by other means.

By the time he turned back to respond to Merlin, to finally thank him, he was gone. 


	12. Chapter 12

The reaction to Arthur’s disappearance was completely different to what he had expected. In fact, the moment the security guards laid eyes on him, the peaceful order turned into chaos. All of a sudden he was dragged forwards into the safety of the gates desperately. It was as if they believed one foot outside the gates would lure in the Bastet that attacked him or worse. Then he was smothered in an avid group of voices, all full of concern and relief. Morgana practically sprinted through the gardens, flinging herself dramatically into his arms. A fond smile spread over his lips as he held her gently. He could feel her own lips upturning against his neck. Quickly, she released herself from his grip. The pair began to walk back into the building. Arthur was greeted with blinding smiles and sighs of relief, many from workers he had never bothered to identify or even _talk to._ Morgana gestured towards the door in front of them. Punching him in the arm, she scowled. He feigned pain; she didn’t smile back, eyes smouldering.

“Don’t you _dare_ go wandering off again you pompous idiot! You could have been _killed._ ” There was affection in her voice, despite the venomous look on her face.

He looked into her turquoise eyes, misted over with tears she was too proud to cry, because giving Arthur the satisfaction would be something she could never live down. Nonetheless, the gesture touched him. Not that he’d ever _tell her_ that. Instead, he playfully patted her arm, never leaving her gaze. 

“Morgana,” he said with a grin, raising his eyebrows. Morgana averted her eyes, knowing where this was going. “Were you _worried_ about me?”

Before she could reply or make an excuse the door in front of them burst open, and another pair of arms ambushed him- Gwaine. And then Lancelot and Leon and – _…Uther?_ Too startled to return the embrace, Arthur gazed over his father’s shoulders vacantly, meeting Morgana’s astonished expression. It was a rare occurrence to receive any form of physical affection from his father, even as a child, gestures like this had come sparingly, as if rationed by some higher superior. Just as Arthur sunk into the hug, drinking up the warmth of his father’s arms, he was released. Frowning, Arthur studied his father’s stern lips, wild eyes.

“I’ve had search parties roaming these forests all day, from the _moment_ the sun had risen. Where on earth have you been?”

Dazed by those words, Arthur lingered in silence for a moment, confusion pelting him in the face. His father was… _worried_ about him? An exhilarating pulsation spread through his body, lighting up his sapphire eyes with newfound hope. Then he realised he probably should respond to his father’s words. Swallowing-hard, he met those eyes and his heart ached a little when he watched any trace of compassion fade. His next word elicited a wave of shock and awe – awe primarily resonating from Leon.

“Ealdor.”

**♦☼♦**

Arthur rolled his eyes, begrudgingly prodding his average dinner as his friends laughed around him. Uther had demanded Arthur explained the situation immediately, with an urgency nobody else understood. So Arthur had told the story, of how he had jumped over the cliff edge, saved from death by Merlin, chased by a Chimera and healed by the People of Ealdor. Naturally, Leon thought it was _totally appropriate_ to turn his epic adventure near-death-experience story into a hilarious comedic sketch. The man was sat animatedly opposite him, using vivid hand gestures to try and better articulate himself.

“So Arthur makes himself a little forest friend whilst we’re walking-”

“- _Ábilgest_.” Arthur supplied subconsciously because his little forest friend _does_ have a name after all. He hasn’t established the trap he’s just walked into until it’s too late. Groaning, Arthur watched Morgana smirk in delight beside him, even Leon spared him an amused smile.

“I didn’t realise you had such a profound connection with nature Arthur,” she cooed tauntingly, knowing full well his indifference towards the notion of pets.

Shrugging – it was all he could do – Arthur beckoned Leon to continue, so he can get to the _best part_ and amaze all of his friends. Leon doesn’t hesitate, catching Morgana’s eye coyly for a split second.

“So this Bastet appears, and well you _know_ this bit – we leave, Arthur doesn’t because he’s running from this creature-”

“-then Gwaine gets all bromantic-” Lancelot interjected, and Arthur couldn’t help but snigger at this comment, watching a _blush_ of all things smear over the rugged man’s cheeks.

“-I wasn’t going to _leave_ Arthur to die if that’s what you mean by _bromantic.”_ He said dryly. It was the first time Arthur had ever seen such a defensive exterior about Gwaine, hardly something he would be able to drop.

“Now who sounds like a sentimental princess?” he replied, unable to resist the temptation.

Leon took the pointed look on Gwaine’s face as a sign to press forwards. Nonetheless, he decided to repeat Lancelot’s words, because it was _funny_ in hindsight. 

“ _Anyway._ Gwaine gets bromantic, we wind up back here. Arthur is stuck out there and god we _all_ know unless he doesn’t get himself into the canopy layer or higher he doesn’t have a chance.”

There was a moment of silence, where everybody seemed to dwell in the memory of the panic and concern. Arthur felt touched by this display of care towards him. Then Leon pressed on, predicting Arthur’s compulsive urge to ruin the moment with a snide remark.

“He reaches the edge of the forest, and jumps over the cliff and into the Cearcetunge waterfall, _known_ for its jagged rocks and lethal rapids!” Leon inhales a breath, shooting Arthur a look of admiration. “ _Literally_ the druid word translates to grinding teeth! Yet s _omehow_ he lands in the water and uses the rocks to get to the other side.”

“What can I say? I’m superhuman.” Arthur boasted light-heartedly, sharing a smile with Lancelot. He’d missed this, his friend’s banter, their incessant bickering and playful jibing. He’d missed the way Morgana and Leon purposefully avoided each other’s eyes in case somebody noticed but everyone _knew_ they were secretly together anyway, Gwaine’s insolence, and Leon’s _overwhelming_ enthusiasm for anything to do with the Druids.

“Then he gets ambushed by a pack of Ræ-”

“-What are Ræ?” Morgana asked curiously, wanting every explicit detail of this adventure. Leon seemed thrilled that he had the chance to show off his knowledge of the druid world once again.

“Well they’re about the size of a small dog, with two to three sets of teeth. They’re cunning, fast. They usually hunt in packs of six or seven-”

“-And they’re nasty bastards. One of them gave me _this.”_ Arthur gestured towards his bandaged arm.

“You’re lucky he got there in time.” Gwaine mused with a grin, engaging everybody back into this ridiculous story-time dinner fiasco. Leon almost choked on his water, gulping it down rapidly so he could share the punch-line to the joke. Not that Arthur found this funny, or a joke. It was _not_ funny at all.

 “You won’t _believe this-”_

Gwaine’s voice cut through the room, beating Leon to it.

“ _John Smith_ – Merlin – comes out of nowhere and rescues his ass!”

“So wait, he was _actually_ a druid?” Lancelot gasped with a chuckle, and Arthur narrowed his eyes with a sigh. He assumed Gwaine had shared the ‘dollophead’ story with everybody by now; even Morgana seemed to understand the irony of this statement.

“Yes. He is a druid.” The blonde monotonously replied. “And he didn’t _rescue_ me Gwaine, he merely assisted me.”        

“After Merlin _rescues_ the damsel,” Arthur shot Gwaine a deadpan expression, Morgana was _loving_ this, unable to control the grin on her face. Leon interrupted Gwaine quickly, wanting to tell this part of the story.

“They run into a _Chimera,_ a real life Chimera!!”

“But I thought they were mythological creatures?” a foreign voice asked nosily.

The group turned towards the voice, a little astounded. Arthur hadn’t even _noticed_ other Camelot Enterprise workers had crowded round the table to hear the story until now. He spotted Valiant and Cedric on the other side of the hall, grumbling to themselves, clearly uninterested in his epic escape. Elated to have an audience, Leon turned to the stranger and explained. Arthur felt increasingly uncomfortable with all this attention.

“Well, this is a _magical_ land. We stumbled across all sorts of creatures on our first expedition, it makes sense for mythological creatures to be real here.”

A few people around began to murmur to themselves enthusiastically and Arthur assumed if his father walked in to see a large group of workers _discussing_ magic in such a positive way…all hell would break lose. Thankfully, his father had dined earlier, and was not to be found in the great hall. Some members of the crowd disbanded, not wanting to be caught speaking about magic and Albion so openly. Those that were left, a mere handful, sat on the spare seats of the table beside Morgana and Leon.

“So Merlin once again _rescues_ his dollophead,”

“I’m not a dollophead, and I’m certainly not _his.”_ Arthur growled in outrage at such an accusation, Leon shrugged casually.

“And then he takes Arthur to _Ealdor!!”_

Arthur decided it was his turn to take over the story, and finish it in a way that was entirely _truthful_ and real.

“Balinor, the leader of the clan, is currently deciding whether I will be able to return to the clan or be banished from the perimeter-”

“-I hope they let you stay. If they let you into the clan we’ll be able to learn _so much_ about the druids.” Leon interjected, a hazy, wishful tone to his voice.

“I’m not your personal spy you can poke around I’ll have you know.” Arthur joked instigating a few laughs. Little did _they_ know that the truth of the matter was Arthur was already _Uther’s_ personal spy. Lowering his gaze to the table, to try and conceal the look of trouble he knows has already made its face across his face, Arthur grimaced. He heavily disliked lying, especially to his friends. Yet he had no choice. This mission was top-secret, and now it seemed he was one step closer.

“Arthur this is amazing.” Morgana breathed, offering him a smile. “If they accept you, you could be one of the first people to live alongside the druid’s in Albion!”

Arthur was about to protest, and tell them about Gwenevere, but thought better of it. Perhaps revealing her ‘crimes’ would put her in danger. Instead, he nodded slowly and bid his goodbyes to his friends. Exhausted didn’t even _cover_ how he was feeling right now. He slumped onto the uncomfortable bed – _almost_ as uncomfortable as the one in Ealdor – and closed his eyes in relief. Relief that he was _back here,_ and relief that he had escaped the endless attention diverted his way. He lay there for a moments in the silence. He pretended not to acknowledge it, the thing he’d had since he returned back here.

Turns out, returning to Camelot had created a ridiculous dull _ache_ in Arthur’s chest, an ache for something he couldn’t distinguish. It took him a few minutes of this solitude to establish what exactly it was. It was Ealdor, for the adventures of this world…for M- _no._ He assumed it was just a preliminary feeling, one that would subside and let him be. After all, emotions and business didn’t really co-operate well. The less feelings he had, the better- especially with his mission. Too weary to change into nightwear, Arthur let sleep overpower his system.

_Arthur…_

_My Arthur…_

He pretended to ignore the whispering in his head, assuring himself it was nothing but a figment of his imagination.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

**♦☼♦**

“We have come to a decision.” The leader of the clan said slowly, studying Arthur intently.

Lowering his eyes, suddenly nervous at the attention devoted to him – he’d had enough of that back in Camelot Base, Arthur gritted his teeth. Any trace of serenity mutated into tension as he quickly released the breath held for far too long in his lungs. This was his _one chance_. If he messed this up his father’s orders of negotiation would be pointless, and a dark destiny would perish the beautiful landscape. If Ealdor didn’t accept him, the plan was faulted forever. Running a hand through his golden hair, Arthur felt his racing heart beat against his ribcage viciously. He waited for what felt like _minutes_ for the answer. Finally, Balinor’s voice resounded.

“You are allowed to stay.”

Lifting his head, Arthur broke into a relieved smile. Triumph smothered his complexion; his father would be pleased, _proud_ even- he knew that for sure. He glanced over at the bashful Gwenevere who beamed at him contentedly. Standing beside her was that aggressive brown-haired man he had met the day before. Will’s jaw was clenched, knuckles white. He looked like he wanted to rip Arthur to piece with his bare hands and beat him senseless. Arthur couldn’t resist really, giddy on the good news. He raised his eyebrows comically at William, shooting him an amused smile. This merely heightened Will’s anger; Gwenevere bit her lip in a lousy attempt to hide her smile.

Then his eyes scanned over the crowd assembled. He was not surprised to see a mixture of curious smiles, fearful gazes and furious glares. It seemed not _everyone_ was as happy as Gwen about him staying here. Balinor took a step forwards, meeting the blonde squarely in the eyes. Balinor was one of the irked druids, that much was obvious.

“ _But,”_ Arthur had to restrain the compulsive protest emerging on his tongue. He should have _known_ there would be a ‘but’. The initial wave of happiness faded into severity. “This does not grant you total freedom.” He added, and Arthur straightened his posture, waiting to hear the terms of the agreement.

“No-one else from Camelot must come here, just you. You must participate in clan activities and chores…”

The more Balinor spoke, it appeared that there was more than just _one_ but.  Arthur groaned inwardly, trying not to switch off at the recitation of endless, dull rules. It was as if he was back in school again.

“…You are to be supervised at _all times_ in Ealdor. If spending the night here, you must sleep where another can ensure you do not wander off.”

Unable to control his irritation, Arthur felt his lips twitch upwards sardonically.

“… _Anything else?”_

Balinor seemed unfazed by the insolence dripping from his voice. He gestured for Arthur to follow him up the cobbled steps, towards a low house built inside an archaic tree hollow. Leaving behind the small crowd of druids, Arthur walked up the steep steps. When he reached the door, Balinor pushed it open gently.

“A few questions. Follow me inside.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Stepping into the low-lit house, he discovered it was not at all a house. There seemed to be no source of light, other than the mysterious hovering orbs that indicated magic. It was a modest room, barely the size of his bedroom in Camelot. The druids weren’t keen on houses or things that would cause destruction to the ‘balance of nature’ he had discovered. There was a thatched mattress on the ground, pushed to one corner of the room. It looked extremely uncomfortable.

In the middle was a rug woven from colourful leaves. Seated on a cushion of some kind – probably made from those succulent leaves, Arthur thought - sat Merlin. The man seemed pensive, sitting in a meditative state. Gradually, he lifted his head and gazed at Arthur quietly. Arthur tried to conceal his awe at the way the dim light embellished those fantastic cheekbones, or the way it painted his skin with a hypnotic glow. Those timeless eyes were pervading into his own, full of vibrancy and a sparkle.

“Merlin will take it from here.” Balinor said in his low, warm voice, making sure to shut the wooden door behind them. Blinking slowly, Arthur pulled himself out of his daze.

“So,” Merlin’s voice resonated through the room, eyes following the blonde as he sat down on one of the cushions. “They’re letting you stay.”

Arthur was unsure whether the tone signified feigned joy, genuine joy or a whole different realm of emotions. The druids were a curious race, difficult to interpret. Scoffing at Merlin’s words, Arthur grimaced. They were hardly letting him stay, more like _supervising_ his every move.

“On a pretty tight leash. I’m not a _baby_.” His eyes narrowed at the man opposite him. He noticed the way Merlin’s serious composure melted for a moment, a cheeky smirk ghosting over his features. Amusement was evident.

“Stop that.” Arthur snapped touchily.

Raising his eyebrows, Merlin forged naivety rather convincingly. For a moment Arthur doubted whether Merlin _had_ been smirking a moment ago or not.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sighing in exasperation, Arthur clasped his hands together.

“Let’s just get on with this, _shall we?_ ”

The irritating druid in front of him frowned.

“You should be grateful that I _offered_ to question you, some of the Elders wanted to have you bound for this.” He explained nonchalantly.

An unpleasant shiver ran up his spine at the memory of the Elders. Choking on the air, Arthur’s eyes widened as he processed the words. Had he just said-

“- _Excuse me_?”

Merlin shrugged as if this kind of thing was a common occurrence, and continued blithely. His fingers absently traced the hem of the rug between them.

“I don’t blame them though, after everything your father has done.”

Wincing at the insult, Arthur scowled. He shot Merlin a derisive grin, cocking his head to one side.

“Oh, and here you told me that you were _peaceful_ people!” he snorted.

“We are.” Merlin calmly stated, eyes frosted over with sorrow.

He chewed his lip contemplatively, clasping his hands together tightly. With a laboured sigh, he met Arthur’s eyes.

“You have to remember that this has _never_ happened before. Druids have spent their whole lives here safe from the threats of your world. And now _you_ of all people are _here_ in Ealdor,” averting his eyes with a bitter laugh, he shook his head.

“They’re scared of you.”

Arthur was a little shocked at the statement. The _druids_ – magical beings who could no doubt obliterate him in seconds with a spell – were scared of _him?_ Then he understood why. Arthur Pendragon was a name, a name that held power in Camelot. For years he had just been a name, seeping around Albion like an undying rumour. Now he was here, and so was his father. They most likely assumed that laboratories would be springing up all over Albion. To ban captivity of the Albion druids had actually been Arthur’s first proposition to the project, not that he would admit this to anybody. The last thing he wanted was for _more_ people in the Business to take Valiant and Cedric’s side.

“Well they shouldn’t be.” He replied. “We’re not here to oppress the druids.”

Leaning forwards, Merlin pouted. Arthur deliberately steered his vision away from those plump lips. The amber hue in the room was really doing _magical_ things to the druid’s features.

“What exactly _are_ you here for then?”

Ruffling a hand through his tousled golden hair, the man met those sapphire orbs. Now the interrogation had begun. He watched Merlin stiffen and become more corporal in stature.

“Our world is on the brink of exhaustion. We’ve stripped it bare, destroyed ecosystems beyond repair, exploited all our natural resources-”

“-So you’re here to make the same mistakes?” Merlin interjected.

“-No.” Arthur pointed a finger at the man whose eyes darkened.  “That’s not what I’m saying _let me finish-”_

“-Strip Albion bare, destroy _our_ ecosystems, exploit our natural resources-”

Now Merlin was just putting words into his mouth. He knew exactly why, he was only trying to protect his people. Merlin was future leader of the clan. He had a responsibility to his people. Though Arthur noticed a flicker in his eyes, similar to his own. There was this pleading desire for acceptance, acceptance from his father. Frustrated, Arthur raised his voice.

 “-All we intend to do is mine a _reasonable_ area for oil. We’re already looking at other power sources.”

Arthur let his words fade out abruptly, realising he had stumbled blindly into a trap. What other power sources meant was blatantly obvious, most of all to the druids. There were after all, the other power source. _Shit._ Biting back a growl, Merlin forebodingly speared the man with his eyes, jagged shards for pupils. Arthur was surprised to still be physically intact for his insensitive brashness.

“Like magic extraction I’m guessing? Do you-“ getting to his feet, Merlin paced back and forth. How could this man sit here with such calmness, _knowing_ what his father’s company – his _future_ company – were doing? Brusquely he stopped, melancholy splashed over his face. “Do you even _know_ what goes on down there? Because I’ve seen it, I’ve _seen-_ ”

“-No.” Arthur quickly said, voice hollow. “No I don’t.” Judging by Merlin’s tormented, haunted eyes he didn’t want to see the labs anytime soon.

Resignedly, Merlin channelled his rage and sat back down, reminding himself that his father would not lose control of emotions like this.

“If you did, maybe you wouldn’t be so quick to obey Uther’s every command.”

“I’m not a robot Merlin. I make my own choices.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, gesturing doubt.

“I don’t believe that for a _second.”_ A laugh erupted from his mouth, hardly synonymous with joy and happiness. It was as if he was musing over a sick joke only he knew the punch line to. “And have you even _asked_ our permission? Or does you father have the _audacity_ to assume that he can take whatever he wants because we’re _uncultured savages?_ ”

Unable to form a swift response to Merlin’s sarcastic words, Arthur remained silent. He hadn’t thought about it this way. What _did_ give them to right to just parade into Albion? This whole project was lacking in principle and morals, Arthur _already_ knew that.

“What if we appealed?”

Now that _did_ break Arthur’s silence. In amusement, he smirked at the words.

“Don’t take this wrong way,” he began, incapable of concealing his own humour. “But I hardly believe the _druids_ could make an _appeal._ ”

Glowering at Arthur tetchily, Merlin dropped the subject. He had recognised when the words left his mouth that appealing would be useless. Nowadays all human rights organisations excluded the druids. There was nothing that could help them, other than themselves.

“What are your views on all of this?”

Confused, the blonde narrowed his eyes.

“On what? Appealing-“

“- _No_.” Merlin wailed, holding a hand to his temple in vexation. “On the ‘Albion Project’.”

Unsure exactly how Merlin knew the name for the project, Arthur hid his surprise. He searched for a diplomatic answer he could regurgitate with ease under pressure that comprised of big words to disguise its lack of meaning.

“I think it is the perfect opportunity for us to try and salvage the energy crisis without bringing disturbance to the druids.”

Merlin shot him a deadpan look, able to see through his obvious bullshit.

“ _Your_ views, not your father’s.”

Blinking irritably, Arthur leant forwards a little and spoke.

“I think it is the perfect opportunity for us to try and salvage the energy crisis without bringing disturbance to the druids.”

Choosing to ignore the rather flippant reply, Merlin frowned.

“Has Camelot even thought about druid welfare at all?” he then scoffed, mentally scolding himself. What a _stupid_ thing to say. “Not that you actually care about druid welfare _anyway,_ you do own the labs after all-”

“-Actually, I ensured that measures would be set in place so the druid’s would be less affected by our stay.” Arthur said, almost vacantly.

A surprised smile lit up Merlin’s face, his eyes wide. For a few seconds he studied Arthur silently. Whilst part of him wanted desperately to ask why and discover the motives for this unusual behaviour, he reminded himself that this man had the power to _change_ Camelot. But he had not changed anything. His composure returned, and he began to speak more passively to the man.

“What did you think of Albion when you first saw it?”

That definitely was _not_ a question Merlin had received from the Elders. Nonetheless, curiosity had overpowered him. Arthur sent him a pointed look, clearly perplexed.

“What kind of _ridiculous_ question is that? What is that going to prove?!”

“I want to know,” Merlin urgently replied insistently. “It’s important.”  _To me,_ were the unspoken words reverberating through the room.

“I’ve grown up to dull buildings, an extravagant city life full of people who worry too much, and _eat_ too much, and don’t _live_ their lives to their full potential. We failed to embrace our world and enjoy the tranquil lifestyle it offered. We are driven by hunger and power, forever removing any trace of that world. This world…it’s…” sighing Arthur searched for an appropriate word.

“It’s different, _beautiful._ The druids have managed to live alongside nature. And I envy your world, I truly do.”

Merlin seemed absorbed in those words. For a second the pair sat calmly, neither speaking. It was almost as if they were old friends, dwelling comfortably in silence together, both thinking about the same thing – just from completely different perspectives. A small smile slipped over Arthur’s lips, old friends – now that was _stupid._ He highly doubted that he and Merlin could _ever_ get along. The druid opposite him met his eyes briefly, and offered a hesitant smile, as if believing to show any signs of welcoming was clandestine.

“Send my father back in,” he said distantly. “I need to consult with him.”

 _Consult._ Arthur groaned. How long was this process going to last?

“Can’t _you_ just tell me if I passed the questions?”

Wryly, Merlin cast his eyes elsewhere.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ cheerfully, indulging in the annoyance growing behind the other man’s eyes.

“Why not?!” Arthur exclaimed indignantly.

“I need to consult with my father.”

Standing up reluctantly, Arthur huffed.

“Y-y- _you!”_ he stuttered, watching Merlin’s lips upturn. “You’re _insufferable!”_

“Watch your tongue dollophead, you don’t want points deducted now do you?”

Rolling his eyes, choosing not to retaliate, Arthur stomped out the room. He was completely oblivious to the blinding grin on Merlin’s face, clearly entertained by his childish sulking.

**♦☼♦**

To say Arthur felt awkward, knowing that behind the wooden door Balinor and Merlin were discussing his fate, would be an understatement. He felt even _more_ awkward when Balinor opened the door and invited him back inside. Merlin had resorted to standing, hands held behind his back. He failed to meet Arthur’s eyes, gaze never leaving his father. His father shut the wooden door behind them, standing beside his son.

“You passed the questions.” Balinor said simply, not offering any form of congratulations to the relieved blonde. Arthur glanced over to Merlin, unable to hide his smile. Unexpectedly, Balinor turned to Merlin.

“Whilst you are here, Merlin is going to teach you our ways of living, he must go everywhere you go.”

Eyes wide, hands outstretched, Merlin audibly groaned in protest, Arthur couldn’t help himself from smirking, then realising what this meant. He was to spend _every single moment_ of his time in Ealdor with…. _Merlin._ He too embraced annoyance. 

“Father!” Arthur was a little stunned at the ferocity in this word. “No. B-why- _please_ why me?!” The clumsy Merlin stuttered, shooting a look of displeasure over to Arthur’s direction.

“You bought him here, he is your responsibility.” Balinor replied calmly, nudging his son towards Arthur. Reluctantly, the pair stood beside each other, facing their leader.

“So _Mer_ lin, when do we start?” Arthur whispered in the druid’s ear tauntingly; Merlin sighed, too engulfed in self-pity to reply.

“First the Pendragon must prove that his intentions are pure. He must pass a second test, a test that only he can chose.”

Balinor’s words irritated Arthur Pendragon even _more._ How many tests was he going to have to pass to _prove_ himself and be accepted into the clan? His father’s mission seemed increasingly impossible, harder to reach. Clicking his tongue, not caring that it was incredibly rude, Arthur raised is eyebrows.

“And how exactly do I chose this _test?”_

“It will come to you, in a vision.”

Holding a hand to the bridge of his nose, Arthur frowned. A _vision,_ really? When the druid beside him subtly shoved him with his shoulder, Arthur resolved to snigger at the words, taking a moment to compose himself. Balinor’s gaze was lethal, clearly unimpressed with the new addition to their clan.

“-Okay.” Arthur said exasperatedly. “I’ll just make myself comfortable shall I?”

“You may have Merlin’s bed for the night-”

“-No he _may not-!!”_ Merlin roared, crinkling his nose depreciatively.

Anger flushed through him. Not only was he to _babysit_ Arthur Pratdragon, but he had to give up his _bed_ for him too?! How much more was he going to have to do? He met his father’s intense gaze, laced with a rare fury. The look was enough to dispel any anger. Instantly, Merlin felt the tension in his body melt away, his shoulders slump. With a dramatic sigh, he nodded gruffly in acceptance, knowing he could not defy his father’s orders on this. He had taken Arthur to Ealdor; it seemed logical that he should be responsible for all of this. Turning to Arthur, he met those sapphire eyes in a displeased glare. Arthur stared back challengingly. Then in unison, the pair theatrically turned their heads away from each other, and their bodies for that matter too. Merlin’s expression revealed apathy towards the whole thing, Arthur’s exposed blatant irritation, mouthing words to himself silently.

**♦☼♦**

“ _Please,”_ Merlin said sardonically as the pair entered a new room. It too was carved in the hollow of a large tree, a little bigger than the previous room. But it was no less dull or unspectacular. A mattress sat in the corner. Gesturing over to it, Merlin shut the door behind them, igniting the candles with an effortless flick of his wrists.

“Make yourself at home.”

Sitting on the bed, Arthur flinched, screwing his face up in disapproval. Noticing his reaction, Merlin folded his arms across his chest.

“Something wrong… _sire?”_ the mocking tone in his voice merely spurred Arthur on.

“Your bed isn’t very comfortable.” He observed aloud, not realising how ungrateful and spoilt he sounded until he had already spoken, and it was too late to change what he had said. For reasons Arthur didn’t understand, Merlin’s reaction was not anger, or annoyance, it was _sadness._ He reached over the mattress, eyes softened, voice low.

“Gaius wove this mattress himself,” Arthur gaped at the name, but remained silent. Surely Merlin didn’t mean… _Gaius-_ Gaius, did he? Then the sadness morphed into rage, and the druid scowled at Arthur.

“You insult my bed, you insult and old friend.” Pause, rage fizzled back into sadness. It was obvious that Merlin was emotionally conflicted, unable to fully express himself. “A friend who may well be dead.”

That was enough to confirm Arthur’s suspicions. Overpowering nausea flooded his system. He sat up abruptly on the bed beside Merlin, shock plastered over his face. Gaius _was_ a druid, and yet that didn’t change anything, because he had been there for Arthur and Morgana their whole life. He had never once given any indication to hurt anybody, or corrupt Camelot, despite the company discriminating against his very kind. But Gaius… _Merlin_ knew Gaius too.

“…when you said you were looking a friend, the day we met.” Arthur breathed in despondent awareness of what _really_ happened that day, eyes frosted over with something Merlin failed to identify. “You meant Gaius.”

Not registering Arthur’s shock or confusion, Merlin nodded sombrely. His thoughts drifted to the ageing man, his baldhead, his bruised skin. Maybe Arthur knew if Gaius was here, maybe if he got on the right side of the prat he could break him out? He wondered what condition the man was in, was he still _alive?_ Hell. He hadn’t even _thought_ about Gaius since Arthur Pendragon had arrived. Guilt swathed over his complexion, and he held a hand to his throbbing head.

“Gaius has been part of the Ealdor clan for his whole life, he has been there for my father, and for me.” Then Merlin noticed that there was something _more_ than curiosity behind Arthur’s eyes, and he recalled the way the blonde had spoken of Gaius – as if they too were acquainted. Standing up, Merlin’s eyes flashed with hurt.

“You…you _know_ Gaius?”

Averting his gaze, Arthur held a hand to his chin pensively, a fond smile brushed over his face.

“….He’s…he was there for my father, and for me.”

Without hesitation, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and one of the ceramic pots in the corners of the room darted towards Arthur. Ducking, Arthur fell off the bed clumsily, the shards of the pot smashing against the wall behind him. Merlin lunged forwards furiously, hot tears dripping down his cheeks. Arthur pushed himself out of Merlin’s grasp, reaching for the dagger in his hands for protection. Their eyes met, and Merlin cupped his mouth for a moment, dwelling in melancholy. This was…Arthur had known Gaius, probably as well as _he_ did. He had _been there,_ when it had happened. He could have _stopped this._ After a moment, when it became clear that Merlin was not going to hurl another object at him viciously, Arthur put the dagger back into his pocket, staring at the druid before him. Merlin didn’t want to reveal such _raw_ emotions in front of the enemy, the enemy he is _destined_ for. But he found himself unable to hide the wave of upset crashing over his skin, especially with the newfound knowledge which just made the whole thing _worse._

“Your father has a funny way of showing his gratitude. And you are just the same-” Merlin eventually whispered, wiping his eyes.

“- _No.”_ Arthur snapped, he was not going through this _again._ Morgana had ruthlessly accused him of this, he couldn’t withstand _another_ attack. “I didn’t-”

“-You said so yourself. Gaius has _always_ been there for you.” Merlin laughed bitterly, turning his back on the man. “Yet you are happy to watch him suffer under the tyranny of your father-”

“-There was _nothing_ I could do. Believe me I tried-”

“-I _don’t_ believe you!” Merlin’s voice became chaotic, his magic rustling the flames of the candles.

“Where is he? Is he _here,_ in Albion?”

“I _don’t know_ -“ Arthur sighed, a grimace dusting his features. He knew nothing about Gaius, or his whereabouts. His father and Morgause were the only two who did he assumed. The druid in front of him burst.

“-How can you _not know?!_ It’s _you_ that did this!”

“This was _not_ my doing. I _tried_ to save him-” Arthur took a step forwards angrily.

“-Well you didn’t try hard enough-”

“-Neither did _you._ ” Arthur spat maliciously, dishing out the implications with as much venom as Merlin had done.

The statement hit Merlin in the heart, his anger faltering. Memories flashed before his eyes. He had been _right next to Gaius._ He had _tried_ to break him free, used all of his magic to _try_ and break the chains. He had _tried_ to get Gaius out, but it was no use. Arthur Pendragon was right. It seemed in this, they were both to blame in different ways. Arthur _tried_ to stop him going to the labs, but it wasn’t enough. Merlin _tried_ to free him from the labs, it wasn’t enough- _no._

How _dare_ the son a Pendragon condemn _Emrys_ for something that was _his fault._ Merlin was not going to take blame for this. Gaius was in there due to the fault of four people: Uther, Balinor, Morgause and _Arthur._ Growling, he leant towards the blonde man.

“You’re _wrong_. You don’t know what’s _down there._ I do. You’re just a coward, too afraid to stand up for what is right, always doing what daddy tells you. But no,” raising a hand to his chin in mock thinking, Merlin narrows his eyes, spinning around to face the man. “It’s not _just_ that. You’re too much of a self-centred pratface to swallow your own pride and admit that what you did was wrong, what you’re _doing_ is wrong. You Arthur Pendragon-”

Raising his eyebrows, feigning ignorance, Arthur shot him a dark look.

“-Are you finished?” Well, that shut Merlin up. Clenching his fists, Merlin swallowed-hard, feeling humiliation at the thought he had tried to be civil to this man, and the notion that he had to _watch his every move._ How could this man be his destiny?

“I’m done listening.” Arthur said with an exaggerated yawn, propping himself down onto the mattress. “I’m going to sleep now, you know,” he pulled a face. “Waiting for a vision and all.”

Scoffing, Merlin made his way towards the door, refusing to sleep in the same room as the man. He’d sleep outside, against the door if his father was _really_ that adamant about him being watched.

“Let’s hope it’s a _killer_ quest.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: SPOILERS for 3x08 if you haven't seen it. I've been incorporating bits of the Merlin plots into this story too.

It was a beautiful sunrise. Merlin had watched it from a branch, in one of the tallest trees silently despite knowing exactly where he was supposed to be. He’d watched the orange sun slowly make its way up the horizon, igniting a magnificent array of colours in the sky. Now the sun was peeking over the edge of the forests, blinding and _brilliant._ The verdant trees were enriched by its light, the forest was alive and burnished with its endless wisdom and timeless splendour. A smile dusted his face gently, his skin warm and relishing in the touch of those delicate rays. The creases of skin under his eyes were marked with signs of fatigue, revealing that he had little rest tonight. How _could_ he possibly sleep, knowing that _Arthur Pendragon_ had also known Gaius?

Merlin was sure if he told his father the truth, Balinor would hold the blonde to ruthless interrogation, demanding him to reveal Gaius’ location. He may have even held Arthur to ransom. It seemed like a good idea, Merlin had been stirring over solutions all through the night. However, ransom had one consequence- the risk that Uther Pendragon’s men would come for Arthur, and then come for the druids, and anarchy would break lose. Ealdor wasn’t prepared for a war, especially over one man. If Gaius was to return, it would have to be solved diplomatically, through some kind of negotiation. The dark reality had finally sunken in a few hours ago: they were too early on to negotiate. This whole situation with Camelot Enterprise was going to take _time;_ it was not going to be easy.

Merlin plucked a few leaves from one of the smaller branches, tossing them out into the wind’s arms softly. He watched them dance around each other hypnotically, calming his spirit for a moment. Something inside him told him Gaius _was_ alive. He wasn’t safe, he wasn’t _okay –_ but he was alive. And for now, Merlin knew that would have to be enough. When the sun had fully risen, he decided it was time to head back to the clan, knowing that his father would summon him any moment.

When he entered Ealdor, he spotted a crowd of people near the assembly point. His father and Hunith were on the platform, Arthur Pendragon facing them. Merlin stumbled through the crowd, reaching the front just in time to hear the blonde speak.

“I am to ride out to the Perilous lands, and bring back the Trident of the Fisher King.”

Gaping – because it’s the most imbecilic, treacherous quest he’s ever heard of – Merlin took a final step forwards and his eyes burned into the back of the prat’s head.

“ _What?”_ he choked.

Arthur – eyes sparkling in the sunlight, skin glowing strikingly - turned round to face the druid, wondering how long he had been standing there. Apparently, not for long if Balinor’s expression was anything to go by. It shifted into one of discontent. He sighed, gazing over to his son, Merlin twisted his lips together.

“Merlin, you and _only_ you are allowed to accompany Arthur on this quest.” 

He was already _late_ to the meeting, showing any sign of defiance would be stupid. Instead, he nodded obediently, _silently._

“Then it’s settled,” Arthur said, with a quality of leadership Merlin had previously overlooked. “Merlin and I will leave at the next dawn.”

At this, Balinor and Hunith left the platform, the small crowd departed, all but one defiant man. He walked towards Merlin, concern etched in his face. Gripping his friend by the arm, Will shot Arthur a sceptic glance.

“I don’t trust him Merlin.” He said, not caring that Arthur was in earshot.

“Will,” Merlin sighed, not wanting to fight with his friend again. All they had done since Arthur’s arrival was argue. “It’ll be fine. If Arthur successfully completes this quest, then he will have proved-“

“-Don’t give me that crap Merlin.” The man lividly hissed. “No matter _what_ he does, he will never earn my respect or my trust.”

Pursing his lips together, Merlin studied his friend’s complexion with tired, sad eyes. Patting him on the shoulder, Merlin started walking. Arthur followed like a loyal dog, part of him afraid to be left alone with William. He had expressed his hatred for Arthur several times, and this was only his _third day_ in Ealdor.

“Couldn’t you have chosen something a _bit_ easier!” the troubled druid complained from in front.

“So Mr. Magic man is all scared now he has to _come with me_?” Arthur said with a dark laugh. “I’m meant to be proving my worth to the people…besides, didn’t you hope for it to be a _killer quest?_ ”

That, Merlin couldn’t deny. He didn’t reply, continuing to walk to the outskirts of the settlement.

“Where are you going?!” Arthur asked, fumbling after him.

Halting for a moment, Merlin faced the _irritating_ man, eyes narrowed. This _prat,_ why couldn’t he leave him in _peace_ for just a _few minutes?!_ He was already going to have to endure an epic _quest_ with him which would no doubt take a few days just to get to the Perilous Lands. The _Perilous Lands,_ The Fisher King. Merlin stirred over Arthur’s vision. Perhaps he had been given this vision because of the legends about-

“I’m not your keeper, go and occupy yourself.”

Arthur grinned, seeming to have some kind of powerful information that stated otherwise. It was so easy to wind Merlin up.

“ _Actually_ you kind of are. According to your _father,”_ He recited sardonically, _“_ I need to be supervised at _all_ times.”

Merlin rolled his eyes agitatedly, recalling Balinor’s words.

“By you.” Arthur added for good measure, just to watch the druid’s displeasure increase.

Turning away for a moment, Merlin scratched his head. He couldn’t defy his father’s orders again…not with Arthur Pendragon. Groaning, he jabbed a finger into Arthur’s arm. 

“One word – I _mean_ it, just _one -_ and I’ll push you off the canopy.”

**♦☼♦**

“So you’ve been accepted into Ealdor.” The man said, voice stern and severe.

Nodding, Arthur took a step forwards.

“I have to pass some kind of ‘test’. Then they’re going to teach me their ways of living, so in time yes. I believe I will be accepted.” Slowly, he cautiously met his father’s eyes.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me Arthur.” The words were meant to warm Arthur’s heart, but they just stung, because he knew what was coming. “You are to return to Camelot Base at least once a week to update me with your progress on the mission.”

Nodding obediently, Arthur made his way to the doorway.

“Yes father. I promise I won’t fail you.” 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 3x08 - I've merged some parts of Merlin episode plots into the story alongside Avatar and my own ideas too.

“In my vision, the perilous lands seemed… “ Furrowing his brow, Arthur searched for the appropriate word. “ _Perilous._ ”

“Oh _it is_ ,” Merlin mused with a coy smile, walking in front through the vast Ealden forest, satchel flung over his shoulders. The morning sunlight was trickling down hypnotically onto his fresh face, adding an ethereal glow to his features.

“The sun never sleeps, the castle ruins are guarded by a Manticore, Ortheneu

hiding in every dark alcove…” pausing for no doubt _dramatic effect,_ the druid raised his eyebrows.

“They say the _Fisher King_ himself supposedly still sits on his throne.”

In all honesty, every word that Merlin had just said sounded _ridiculous_ to Arthur’s ears _._ Manticores, Ortheneu– though Arthur had no idea what on earth an Orthena was – sounded like creatures of myth. Though to dismiss them, in Albion of _all places_ , was foolish. For now, he may well have to accept that they were potential risks to the quest. Brushing these thoughts from his mind, Arthur remembered is father’s words from yesterday. It was a reminder of his _true quest,_ beyond all of this acceptance and approval; there was something greater at stake. Feigning nonchalance, Arthur ruffled a hand through his hair, pulling a distorted facial expression.

“So,” he began, figuring now he had Merlin alone he may as well get a _head start._ “Ealdor. You’ve lived there your whole life?”

Surprised by the abrupt change in conversation, Merlin met the blonde’s eyes hesitantly. Then, with a fond smile, he nodded. He was unsure where the young Pendragon was steering this conversation, but for now he put the probing down to inquisitiveness alone. Nonetheless, he kept his answer short and factual, revealing no more than it needed to. His father had warned him of giving away _too much_ information before the quest was completed. 

“Yes. Our clan has lived there for centuries.”

Pursing his lips in acknowledgement, Arthur sauntered a little closer to the druid. He knew now he was about to step into unmarked territory, cross over a line that had only _just_ been drawn. But it was necessary, his father needed answers, and the answer itself was _highly important._ The longer it took to _get_ said answer, the worse the outcome would be for sure.

“….Ever thought about moving?” he asked, not expecting the sudden venomous look from Merlin.

It appeared Merlin was smarter than he looked. Arthur tried not to smirk at the reddened ears. Turning all his attention towards the blonde man, Merlin shot him a glare. They weren’t exactly well enough acquainted to be talking of such things, and to even _suggest_ such a topic, after the events that had passed – it was suspicious. Thus, he responded bitterly. It was his duty to protect the people after all.

“What do you mean by that?” Merlin literally growled, seeming less and less comfortable with this conversation.

Shrugging, continuing to act rather indolently, Arthur ignored the druid’s sceptic scrutiny.

“You know…moving elsewhere, finding another place to settle,” for good measure, Arthur decided he should probably try and make his words a little more subtle. “We do it all the time where I’m from.”

That statement seemed to appease Merlin, settling the abrupt restless energy inside him. Relief spread over Arthur as he watched the raven-haired man shift back to a normal demeanour.

“That’s not how the _druids_ work,” Merlin replied, startled at the notion of just _leaving_ your homeland. “We live here not because we chose to, but because the land has accepted us. Because the land chose us.”

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur choked back his laughter at the words. He failed to suppress all of it, the druid noticed and sighed. Of course the prat wouldn’t understand such things… _yet._

“If you’re trying to sound wise _Mer_ lin, you’re failing _.”_

This was rewarded with a cantankerous response.

“And if you’re trying to be a prat, congratulations! You’re succeeding.”

“Comebacks aren’t really your forte are they?” Arthur sneered with a grin, thoroughly enjoying the agitated tone emerging in Merlin’s voice.

“No, but magic _is_ , and I can obliterate you with a single word if I wanted to,” holding up a hand dramatically, Merlin gasped. “Actually, I can do so _without_ words-”

“-Oh let me guess,” pushing the druid’s hand out of his way, Arthur sniggered. “You’re about to tell me that you’re the _mighty Emrys!”_

Merlin remained enigmatically silent to this remark, merely offering Arthur a dangerously _normal_ smile. For reasons Arthur didn’t understand, the druid seemed _highly amused_ by his insult. It was strangely unnerving. Perhaps Merlin _was_ Emrys- don’t be ridiculous! Glancing over towards the lanky, clumsy, big-eared man, Arthur smirked. Emrys was a _divine being…_ practically a deity. He was certain that didn’t come with a scrawny body, out-of-proportion features and lack of a _brain._ Rolling his eyes at the very _thought_ of Merlin being _Emrys,_ Arthur pushed the obstructing branch in front away from his vision.

It revealed that they had finally reached the edge of the forest. Any trace of vegetation withered away gradually from this point. Succulent, healthy plants dwindled into dry, brittle skeletons under the scrutiny of the sun. He could already feel the heat of the Perilous Lands already hurtling towards him, latching onto his skin hungrily. Luckily he was still protected by the final, majestic tree, kept in its shadow whilst Merlin seemed to be deliberating their next plan of action. With a resigned sigh, he turned to Arthur with a frown. The creases in his brow gestured concern.

“You _must_ conserve your energy. We’re not far, but the heat will make it difficult for us.” Merlin explained, slipping out of his brown jacket quickly.

He peeled off his scarf, revealing his prominent collarbone and strangely hypnotic skin. Arthur was too…. _fixated_ to react when Merlin reached into his back pocket, grabbing the knife. Snapping out his daze – it was the heat, getting to him for sure - Arthur watched the druid curiously. He was cutting up his brown boots, removing the upper layer that hugged his calves. Next came his tatty trousers. The blonde refused to acknowledge the _ridiculous_ pang of dismay he felt for those trousers, it wasn’t like he was fond of them or anything. Merlin effortlessly created a tear above the knee, turning them into shorts. Arthur didn’t realise he was looking at the rags in Merlin’s hands until the druid chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a grin, placing the rags beside his jacket under the large tree. “I’ll just magic it all back together when we get back.”

Raising his eyebrows, as if to signify that this didn’t really bother him, Arthur snorted.

“I don’t really care what happens to your _clothes_ Merlin, they’re hideous anyway.”  He caught the knife when Merlin tossed it over his way, copying the druid’s actions.

Sliding the knife back into his pocket, Arthur placed his rags beside the pile Merlin had created, casting the druid one hesitant look before setting his eyes on the horizon. It was blurred and skewed by the heat. No signs of life were apparent beyond this edge of the forest, the environment was clearly too aggressive to encourage animals to stay. Merlin was the first to take a step out into the hostile environment, Arthur followed and immediately wished he’d remembered his sunglasses. The heat acted like a ferocious buffer, pushing them back resiliently. It seemed to favour the concept of dehydration, not at all welcoming to the pair. Squinting, Merlin turned back to Arthur, beckoning him forwards with a hand gesture. Sweat was already forming on his brow, resting on the hollows of his cheeks before dripping down past those plump li-

“-The longer you _stand_ there like a prat, the weaker you’ll get.” Merlin hissed, voice croaky and strained.

It appeared he had not been exaggerating about the extremities of Albion. One moment you were in an endless, lush forest. The next you were in a hot, harsh desert landscape. Not wasting his energy to reply, which seemed to _please_ Merlin, Arthur trundled forwards in the crimson sand towards the druid. The pair lumbered through the sand. After walking for around twenty minutes, Arthur’s breathing became ragged, his heart racing. His skin was burnishing in this blistering heat. And he was certain another minute in this climate would finish him off. Merlin noticed the shift in his behaviour, and pressed his own clammy palm to the man’s forehead. He furrowed his brow; Arthur was _too hot,_ abnormally hot. Removing his hand, Merlin wrapped a hand around his shoulder urgently.

Brushing Merlin off, Arthur grunted wordlessly, continuing to move forwards. He _had_ to get to the Fisher King and get that trident. There was no time to rest. The longer the quest took, the harder it would be to impress the People. But Merlin, the stubborn druid, was having _none_ of that.

“ _Arthur,”_ he croaked. “you don’t look right-”

“-almost there.” Arthur wheezed weakly, feeling the pressure on his lungs, the heat searing over his skin.

“We can continue tomorrow, it won’t make the quest _any less impressive_ -”

“No time-”

“-So you’d rather continue and die of hyperthermia?” Merlin snapped back petulantly, desperately searching around for some kind refuge.

Snorting, the blonde’s unfocused eyes glanced over to where he assumed Merlin was standing. He held a hand out almost drunkenly, unaware that where he was focusing his attention was in fact nowhere _near_ the real Merlin.

“Don’t pretend that you _actually care_ about me-” stumbling, Arthur felt his body lose balance. He collapsed against the hot sand, face pressed into it. Firm hands instantly hauled him onto his back. Then it all faded into black, the rapid erratic heartbeat in his chest was the last thing he felt.

**♦☼♦**

As nice as waking up to Merlin’s blinding grin hovering mere inches from his face was, Arthur found himself startled by the proximity and totally disorientated. The face above him sifted in and out of focus confusingly, adding to his nausea. Fumbling backward, he groaned at the collision with the stone behind him. Merlin’s smile instantaneously faded as he cupped the back of Arthur’s head gently. The touch was incredibly soothing, calming the panic that threatened to swathe over the fevered blonde. It took a few moments of deep breaths and intense concentration to bring his eyes to Merlin’s face. The druid offered him a small smile before averting his eyes elsewhere.

Only now, still dizzy and body searing hot, that Arthur established he couldn’t _feel_ the rays of the sun grating down on him. Glancing up, he winced as he did so, he studied the small crimson cavern, comfortably large enough for four or five people. Despite being sheltered from the sun, the cave was still hot, alarmingly hot. Squirming, Arthur shut his eyes, inhaling rapidly.

“ _Shhhh_.” Merlin cooed, placing a hand to the man’s brow. “Easy,”

His touch was ice cold, spreading pleasantly all over his body. Arthur presumed it was magic. Right now, he was too exasperated to care about what his father would think about this, or what _he_ thought of this.

“M-magic.” He muttered, fully aware of the unashamed _fear_ and _curiosity_ resonating through his voice; he was too weak to put up his emotional barrier, least of all to this druid.

Arthur heard Merlin chuckle beside him, removing his hand from his forehead promptly. If Arthur tried to fumble his way clumsily back into the touch, desperate for more of the tingling, cold sensation, Merlin made no gesture to show he noticed.

“Magic isn’t evil Arthur, nor are the druids,” the druid whispered tenderly, as if lulling Arthur Pendragon to sleep with a bedtime story. “Your kind should evaluate _how_ a druid uses their magic, never just that they _do_ use it.”

Arthur, feeling his body succumb to the realm of subconscious thoughts and dreams, hummed. Whether this was in agreement, or acknowledgement of the words, Merlin didn’t know. He prayed it was agreement, even if all logic told him it was merely acknowledgement only. Arthur Pendragon was his destiny, which somehow _had_ to mean this prat was going to accept magic one day.

Sighing, Merlin feebly brushed a hand through the blonde curls, casting his eyes out towards the desert. . They’d _have_ to make a move in half a day’s time, or else the quest would be pointless and futile. The Elders had made clear their terms of the quest, making it unusually difficult, and seemingly impossible to pass. Merlin knew one thing, if Arthur didn’t recover soon, they’d have no chance in completing the quest. Placing his hand back onto the blonde’s forehead, he shuddered. If he had to sit up awake the whole time and magically regulate his body temperature, then so be it.

So long as the prat never knew anything about this demonstration of concern, or care, it was fine.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur finally awoke, seemingly fully restored to health, about eight hours later. During those boring, _dull_ eight hours, Merlin hadn’t slept a wink, concentrating his magic on the young Pendragon the whole time to ensure a swift recovery. Not that he’d _admit_ that to the prat, of course. Heaven knows what kind of teasing the young Pendragon would pursue if he found out. However, he was certain if he continued to feel as exhausted as he did now, the blonde would surely notice and suspect something. That was just not an option. The quest had to be completed, for the sake of the crystals, _destiny,_ Arthur- Raking a hand through his raven hair, Merlin shot him a genuine smile, one that took Arthur by complete and utter surprise.

“Feeling better now?” Merlin asked politely – _politely_ of all things, ignoring the way every _single_ inch of his body throbbed with fatigue when he stood up.

Arthur inhaled a breath of fresh air with a small smile. _Relieved,_ he was relieved that the horrible heatstroke that had plagued his body was gone. His body felt well-rested and- narrowing his eyes, he glanced over to Merlin. He had passed out, meaning there was no way of knowing exactly how-

“Exactly how long have we been here?”

Shrugging, Merlin counted the hours on his fingers, more for his own amusement.

“Around eight hours-”

Eyes widening, Arthur quickly got to his feet, urgency sprawled clumsily over his features. Merlin frowned, detecting the layer of anger riming beneath the blonde’s skin. They were still _well_ within the given time limit to complete the quest, Arthur needed to stop worrying.

“­­- _Eight hours?!”_ he exclaimed in horror, slinging the satchel around his shoulders. “Merlin, we didn’t have eight hours to _waste-”_

“-It wasn’t a _waste,_ you needed to rest or you would’ve died you giant, condescending pratface!”

“Not for _eight hours!”_ groaning, Arthur held a hand to his face, slowly drawing it down from the bridge of his nose to his chin, skin stretching beneath the movement. This was unbelievable. They could have been at the castle by now!

“How could you be so _careless!“_

Now it was _Merlin’s_ time to get angry because _careless?_ How on earth was nursing Arthur back to health with his magic and depriving himself from sleep being _careless?_ He had been far from careless; especially considering this brat was the son of Uther Pendragon! Confusion pelted him across his face. _How_ was this man his destiny? _Why?_ He hadn’t proven himself to be anything special, or different from his father.

“Maybe you were right, about what you said earlier.” Merlin said, annoyance and lethargy stripping him of his poise and delicacy. But then again, this man had proved he had the ability to sculpt Merlin’s tongue into a precarious sword, blithely slicing through vowels and sharpening consonants to give his overall dialogue a bitter edge. Making his way towards the exit of the cave, he cast Arthur a scowl. A sour laugh escaped his lips.

“Who are you _supposed_ to be to me anyway?” Arthur wasn’t really sure what to say to that, mainly because the question seemed more rhetorical in nature, addressed to himself. Holding a hand to his head, Merlin sighed. Perhaps the Crystals were wrong, perhaps it was _all wrong,_ the visions, the _prophecy…._

“You’ve condemned Gaius and so many other _innocent_ druids to their deaths-”

Without thought, Arthur strode out into the blaring heat of the Perilous Lands, marching forwards. He didn’t have time for this shit; he’d had enough of this constant _blame_ and stereotyping of his character back home. Morgana had dealt him a fair portion of this for years. Though she had refrained from doing so now, the memories of her words still stung. Humiliation swathed over him, to think he’d _hoped_ Merlin of all people would have looked beyond what he was, what his father was…it was stupid.

Why _would_ Merlin see him differently? Why would he understand? Merlin was a druid. Arthur most definitely _wasn’t_ a druid. Merlin was from Albion. Arthur most definitely wasn’t from Albion. They couldn’t have been _more_ different, more contrasting. But Arthur _wasn’t_ his father. His views on magic were hazy, a little unclear yes, but that didn’t mean he automatically despised the notion of it and those who used it. There were _so many things_ that Merlin didn’t understand, so many things he was neglecting to take into consideration when judging his character. For starters, he had been indoctrinated his whole life to believe magic was evil, and the druids were a threat to society.

Then again, there were things he too had not taken into consideration when making a judgement on Merlin. Merlin and his family had lived in this peaceful _heaven_ their entire lives. Their principles were different, their culture heavily clashed with his own. And now, abruptly these two cultures had been placed together. Now Merlin and _himself_ were placed together,completing an impossible quest. It would be foolish to suggest that there wouldn’t be disagreements or arguments.

Only Arthur didn’t understand why the accusations hurt so much, coming from Merlin. Was it because for the first time he was hearing the _other side_ of the story? Was it because Merlin represented a whole new perspective, one he’d never thought about before? Never, really had he taken a step back and _thought_ about all of this. The druids, the _labs,_ extraction, theAlbion Project, the _secret agenda-_ it all made him feel queasy and overwhelmed-

“-Arthur!” that voice broke him out of his intense thoughts. Spinning around viciously, he met those sapphire eyes, flickering with an unidentifiable emotion.

“What?”

The druid pointed over towards the rocky horizon, and Arthur established what the emotion was- amusement.

“You’re going the wrong way.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [More spoilers for dialogue/plot of 3x08]

The pair walked in silence from then, both indulging in their own clandestine troubles. Whilst Merlin was stirring over what he had seen in the Crystals, Arthur dwelled on the secret agenda his father had given him. Both wore similar expressions of distress, both distrait with their thoughts. To say they were both _astonished_ to find each other looking strangely _similar_ would have been an understatement. Nonetheless, neither pried at the other’s troubles. Instead, they continued walking until they reached the rocky horizon, attempting to dismiss the thought that they might have something _in common._ Arthur scoffed at the thought; Merlin twisted his lips together.

And then raw awe and wonder swathed over their faces.

There it was.

The tall tower, the only remnant of a great and mighty stone structure, resembled an elaborate chess piece in Arthur’s eyes. It was bold and beautifully sculpted, towering spikes rose at the top corners of its crown. Its slender body fanned out at the base, a sturdy chunk of grey stone contrasting against the red, arid soil of the Perilous lands. Against the flat terrain, it stood majestically, full of grandeur. Part of Arthur wondered why the druids had not taken to constructing other magnificent castles; Ealdor was particularly modest with its man-made structures.

“There it is!” he exclaimed in relief, breaking into a run.

He was abruptly pulled back by Merlin, back thumping against the hard rock. The druid looking at him as if he were insane. Narrowing his eyes, he thumped Arthur in the arm to restate his point.

“-you can’t just _charge_ up to the castle!” Merlin shrieked, eyes wide in horror. Detecting the scolding, Arthur threw his head back against the stone, grinning.

“Let me _guess,”_ he spat, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. “The _Manticore.”_

Merlin’s severity met Arthur’s sarcasm in a brutal collision, exploding in front of their faces chaotically. Swallowing-hard, Merlin chose not to retaliate to the immature statement, peering round the stone they were hidden behind to gaze down at the castle. Manticores were fast creatures, with exceptional senses. If they were going to somehow sneak around it, they’d have to make themselves scare earlier on. _Running towards the castle_ was a highly idiotic and suicidal thing to do. Unimpressed by the silent treatment he was receiving, Arthur groaned.

“What do you suggest then? Once we step out behind this rock, there’s _nowhere_ to hide. It’s just literally us, the land and the castle…oh!” feigning shock he pressed a hand against his forehead. “and the _Manticore.”_

“I can cast an invisibility spell,” Merlin muttered, more to himself than to Arthur beside him. For a moment he stirred over the idea. Then he turned to the blonde animatedly, holding out his hand.

“But it will _only_ work if you keep quiet and hold my hand.”

Blinking slowly, Arthur gazed down at the outstretched hand, then back up at Merlin’s serious expression. Scoffing, he brushed the hand away.

“Merlin, I’m flattered, _really_ I am-“

“-Stop being such an arrogant ass.” Merlin snapped back angrily. “For the spell to work on _both_ of us, we need to have some kind of physical contact-“

“-Why does it have to be _holding hands?”_ Arthur indignantly cried, clearly disgusted at the concept.

“-It doesn’t-”

“-Then why did you _say-_ ” Rolling his eyes, Merlin sighed, exasperated. Now Merlin was sure the prat was arguing just for the _sake_ of arguing.

“-I’m about to cast the spell. So unless you _want_ to die-“

Reaching for Merlin’s arm, Arthur wove his fingers around the delicate, pale wrist.

“-I’ll hold your wrist instead then.”

“- _Fine!_ I honestly couldn’t care less Arthur, just keep quiet.”

**♦☼♦**

_I thought you weren’t going to hold my hand?_  Merlin’s voice reverberated through Arthur’s mind, voice full of humour. Gazing down at their intertwined hands, Arthur rolled his eyes.

_Well, you’ve got an irritating wrist._

It was totally true. Just a few moments of walking together, that bony wrist had failed to co-operate with Arthur’s hand. Smiling a little, Merlin cast Arthur a glance, steering them down the rocky hill towards the tower. Part of him was _still_ impressed that Arthur had grasped the ability to talk through his mind so effortlessly, the other part completely engrossed with arguing with him.

_Is there anything you don’t complain about?_

Eyes scanning over the tower that was getting closer by the second, Arthur felt a swell of relief. They were so close. Now all they had to do was find the Trident and get back to Ealdor. He felt Merlin’s mind nudge him touchily, so he replied in the same manner.

_Yes actually. My paycheck._

He could literally _feel_ Merlin’s agitation and bewilderment at this statement. Narrowing his eyes, the druid shot Arthur a sceptical look. Surely he was joking.

_Money is the route of all evil._

_To you lot maybe but to us…it can bring great prosperity and happiness._

Merlin rolled is eyes elaborately, he’d never heard anything _so_ stupid in his life.

_A bit of paper with a face on it holds the key to prosperity and happiness? Please._

For a moment Arthur ignored the retort, studying the enchanting architecture of the tower, how every single brick seemed to be engraved daintily. It truly was an impressive display of historical beauty.

 _Well,_ Arthur began, eyes never leaving the tower. _It’s better than being a tree-hugging hippie, high on magic, spending their time restoring the balance of nature._

Merlin cast him a dubious glance.

_If you dislike us so much, why are you even doing this quest?_

This was the downside to speaking through minds; it made it difficult to process your sentences _before_ thinking them. Thus, conversations through the mind were far more honest and abrupt at times. Nonetheless, Arthur had barricaded away the secrets meticulously. There was _no way_ he was going to give anything away to Merlin, and destroy any chance he had at building some kind of diplomatic relationship between their two cultures.

_I wouldn’t expect you to understand M- what is that?_

Eyes wide, Arthur subconsciously clutched Merlin’s hand tighter at the sight of the foul beast. The creature had the pronounced body of a lion; only its fur was crimson, blood-red and shimmering with beads of sweat in the blazing heat. Its tail was that of a scorpion’s, thin and flexible. The tail weaved around expertly behind the Manticore, its stinger the size of a human hand. Merlin dragged Arthur along, holding a hand to his lips urgently.

_Do not make a sound. We need to walk past it. If it helps keep talking to me in your head._

Swallowing-hard, Arthur studied the creature. He assumed that its sheer size, the scorpion tail or the claws would have frightened him the most. But it wasn’t _any_ of these formidable features that attributed to the terrifying nature of it. It was the face. The creature had three rows of jagged teeth, all scintillating in the rays of the sun like polished daggers. Yet that wasn’t what scared him. The large, yellow eyes with red pupils weren’t so much the problem either. Scrutinising the face, brushed over with red hair and dark whiskers, there were remnants of something vaguely familiar lurking amongst it.

_That’s the most hideous creature I think I’ve ever seen. Look at it’s face- it almost looks like a man._

Traces of eyebrows morphed into the red fur, the nose a little too defined and sculpted for that of an animal’s. But those alarmingly _human_ ears were hard to miss. Merlin’s words obliged Arthur to give into his repulsion.

_It was a man…once._

Arthur smacked a hand over his mouth to muffle his gasp. Now _knowing_ this horrible fact, it was hard to look at that face and _not_ see the echo of a human being. Everything about the creature was horribly poignant and haunting. Some small physical features of the human still remained. However, any trace of a human soul was gone, devoured by this demonic creature. The longer he stared at the Manticore, the worse it became. No. There was no way _that_ was once a human being. Turning to Merlin, he frowned incredulously.

“You’re _kidding,_ right?” he didn’t realise his mistake until the strange bugle-like roar echoed around them. The sound caught both Merlin and the Manticore off-guard. In a flash the invisibility spell dissolved into nothingness, revealing the two men. Horrified, Merlin tugged Arthur forwards by his hand, breaking into a frantic run. Arthur didn’t hesitate to join him.

“You _idiot!”_ he shrieked as they entered the perimeter of the tower.

The tower revealed that it was more complex than first imagined. The internal structure was magnificent. Alongside the principal tower, many smaller columns of stone had been built. Arthur and Merlin exchanged horrified glances as they entered the small courtyard. The Manticore was running after them, its peculiar roar reverberating through the air. Ahead of them was the entrance to one of the towering staircases. Without hesitation the pair of them began to make their way up one of the smaller towers. Adrenaline pumped through their veins, pushing them further up each step. The Manticore clearly struggled with the steps, but pursued them far too quickly for their liking.

Abruptly, Merlin lost his footing and began to tumble down the steps- which led to the jaws of the ferocious beast. Arthur hauled him back up by his shirt, mustering enough force to practically _throw_ him up the next few steps out of reach from the jaws of the Manticore. Suddenly, the sound of _pincers_ echoed through the tower. Sharp, tiny scarlet blades swept past their faces, inches from their skin. Arthur watched them sink into the stone, cutting through the brick easily; he dreaded to think what it would do to _human flesh._ Another round of the strange, red blades instigated the duo to pick up the pace. Arthur was too caught up survival-mode to question Merlin as to what on _earth_ the blades were, or how the creature had fired them.

The next few moments passed too quickly, and somehow also too slowly for Arthur’s liking. But what he disliked the most was his _lack of choice_ in the matter. Merlin – the selfless _idiot_ had not even given him a _hint_ about his next actions. The truth was no matter _how fast_ they ran, the Manticore was approaching, and they would not be able to outrun it. There were no trees to climb this time, no magical, miraculous escapes as there had been with the Chimera. When they reached a platform, leading to another staircase, a door to the left and a primitive window to the right, Merlin drew them to a halt. In seconds he raised his palm, aiming for the beams of stone above the staircase they had just come from.

In a flash of blinding light, the floor shook violently, stone tumbling down and blockading the tower staircase. The wounded roar of the Manticore from the other side revealed that it might have been caught up in the whole ordeal. If the lack of sound was anything to go by, the falling ceiling had indefinitely trampled the creature, conjured by Merlin. For a moment, Arthur regained his breath, hands on his knees. Part of him was fascinated and astounded the druid had been able to cast that wordless spell so quickly. Merlin raked a hand through his tousled hair, coughing as the dust from the rocks seeped through his lungs.

Then came the consequence of his actions.

It started with a small tremble at first, enough to dismiss. Then it grew into a colossal rumble, shaking the entire structure. It happened so fast; the tower _literally_ began to sway, no longer stable. It all began to collapse around them. Gazing over to the window, Merlin spotted the main tower wasn’t too far; the ledge could be easily reached in a jump. Swiftly, he ushered Arthur to the window and pushed him brutally before he could protest or question. Arthur did the most rational thing he could when flailing in the air, he steered his body towards the other window ledge, landing instinctively upon the bricks.

Everything was still happening _too fast,_ and it took him a second _too_ long to establish that Merlin hadn’t jumped with him. Gasping in shock, he turned his attention back to the other tower.

By the time he’d done so, it was too late. The other tower was nothing but a pile of rubble and pungent dust rising upwards.

“MERLIN!” He cried, eyes desperately searching the rubble, panic seeping through his system.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ What the _fucking fuck_ was he meant to do now?! There was no way he could return to Ealdor _without Merlin_ – the _son_ of the clan. Heart racing, he made his way towards the spiralling staircase of the tower, beginning to run down the steps frantically. Arthur didn’t have _magic ­–_ what if Merlin was injured? What if he was _dead?_  -Nope, that wasn’t a sane thought _at all_. Nobody was dying. Not here.

He looked out the window on floor below, greeted by the same dismal sight of destruction and calamity. Clenching his fists, he paced away from the window slowly. He had to think about this realistically. As much as Merlin deserved to be alive, a whole _tower_ had just collapsed withhim _inside of it!_ If he wasn’t dead, he was certainly _on his death bed-_

“-Merlin.” he called out again dejectedly.

The silence was the first to reply. The second voice stunned him.

“…Arthur?”

Rushing towards the window, Arthur gazed out of the window to see _Merlin_ standing on the balcony of the tallest tower, a mere twenty metres or so away. He was astoundingly intact, unharmed apart from a few minor scrapes on his arms.

“You’re…alive.” Arthur observed, voice quiet, face flushed. He hoped Merlin hadn’t heard him _crying_ out his name. That would just be embarrassing and awkward.

From what Arthur could deduce from this distance, Merlin _smirked_ , examining himself light-heartedly.

“Sure am.” The perky tone in his voice was hardly consoling.

The first thing Arthur felt wasn’t relief, or shock that this idiot was in fact safe and sound. It was agonising _rage_. Leaning out the window precariously, he narrowed is eyes.

“H-how _dare_ you just pull a stunt like that! Y-you just, _idiot_.” unable to fully form a cohesive sentence, Arthur continued to stream out his splutters. “Out of nowhere without _any_ warning whatsoever! You-”

“-Well it wasn’t like I had _time_ to warn you, the tower was _collapsing.”_ Merlin shouted back, sighing. There really was _no_ pleasing this prat; he’d just _saved his life,_ again!

“You could have at _least_ told me you weren’t going to _actually_ sacrifice yourself-”

Confused by Arthur’s words, Merlin drew his eyebrows together. The blonde man continued to talk over his quiet musings.

“-Sacrifice myself? What are you _talking_ about-”

“-by just _pushing_ me off the tower and leaving yourself behind.”

Merlin’s eyes flashed with realisation. Arthur thought he had been caught up in the rubble. Arthur thought he’d _died._ Unsure what exactly to say, Merlin simply stared at the handsome man in the window thoughtfully. Then, he abruptly walked away from the balcony and back into the giant tower.

 _Don’t pretend that you actually care about me dollophead!_ He thought, deliberately mimicking Arthur’s words from earlier.

Hearing Merlin’s voice echo in his head, Arthur sighed resignedly.

_Where are you going now?_

The wooden, archaic door to his left drew Arthur inside. He glanced around the cobwebbed, old room.

_I’m looking for the Trident. Maybe you should too; we’d finish this quest of yours a lot quicker if we both searched. Look out for the Ortheneu; they’re not to be meddled with. I think the majority of them left the Tower after the collapse, but there may be a few lurking in the shadows. If you find the Trident, let me know._

With that Merlin detached his mind, clasping the brass door handle tightly. Opening the door, he walked slowly into the large, spacious room. It was deteriorating, beautiful ornaments covered in rust. In the centre of the room was a majestic, regal chair, laced in fine silk and gold. It’s back morphed into a triangle at the top, elusive patterns etched into the golden body. Cobwebs sprinkled across the royal chair, gesturing it was old, _very old._ The lack of light in the room disguised the figure in the chair. Slowly, Merlin paced forwards, swallowing-hard. As he reached the chair, and the sunlight unmasked the identity of the figure, he knelt down on the floor, head bowed.

“So you _are_ still alive.”

**♦☼♦**

The man was dressed in a manner that demonstrated nothing _other_ than royalty and stature. A fur coat was draped over his blue tunic, which verified fantastic embroidery of the highest calibre. Merlin knew this kind of marvellous work would have had to originate from Karhgarl; the City of Silk in the North. He’d heard the stories, of how they had toiled over the _perfect_ robe for The Fisher King, many centuries ago. Gazing upon that _very_ robe was a little overwhelming to say the least. It had barely withered away over the time, the fine silver and ruby silk shimmering as if it had been sewn yesterday. Merlin averted his eyes to the Fisher King himself.

The Fisher King was crippled with age; skin winkled and eyes sunken into his head. But his eyes were laced with wisdom, and that golden crown on his bald head oozed grandeur. Standing up, Merlin studied the man reverently. All this time, just like the legends had said, the Fisher King had remained here in his dying kingdom. He’d never abandoned it, even when it abandoned him. There was something remarkably sad about this brave tale. The Fisher King gazed over to Merlin.

“I’ve been waiting all these years for the arrival of a new time, the time of the Once and Future.”

Pursing his lips together, Merlin took a step forwards in curiosity. The Once and Future…

“I’ve heard those words before.” He admitted softly, though they were a mere whisper in the back of his mind.

“And you will hear them again,” the Fisher King said. “For that time is dawning and mine can now come to an end. This is why you were brought here. This is not Arthur’s quest – it is yours.” Gesturing over to the majestic Trident beside him, the King continued. “Arthur thinks that the prize is the trident. But the real prize is something far greater.”

Reaching into his robe, the King pulled out a vial. The transparent glass vial was full of a hypnotic sapphire liquid. It sparkled enigmatically as it caught the light, with something _more_ than just reflection. The very essence of the object _screamed_ magic; Merlin could feel his body tingling in its presence. Whatever this was, Merlin was sure it was sacred, _special._

“Water from the lake of Avalon. I’ve kept it safe all these years, waiting for the right person to claim it, and that is you.” Turning to Merlin, the Fisher King hoisted the vial towards him. “ _You_ are the one chosen.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked anxiously, feigning obliviousness to the situation and the King’s words.

“ _Emrys,”_ the stern man replied. Merlin tried not to wince at the overbearing name. “Don’t play the fool. Albion’s time of need is near. In that dark hour, you will need help. That is what I’m giving you. For you and you alone can save her in the time of Darkness. When all seems lost, this will show you the way.”

Reluctantly, Merlin held the vial in his palms. The liquid was heavier than expected; its mesmerising nature lured him into a captivated trance. For a moment, Merlin indulged in the beautiful water, the way it caressed his magic. He was drawn away from the gift brusquely.

“I have given you a gift Emrys, now you must give me one in return.”

Reaching for his satchel, Merlin frowned. A gift fit for a King, _the_ Fisher King. Dejectedly, he gazed at the man. He assumed the truth would suffice better than pulling out his supplies for the quest and feebly offering them up as a token of gratitude.

“I have nothing to give.”

The King smiled gently, _knowingly._

“A gift is not always an object. Sometimes it is symbolic.” The King outstretched a hand. “I wish to be free.”

“You want to die.” Merlin stated, half-expecting that this would happen. It was no secret that the Fisher King had been fatally wounded in the great battle, and the pain had sustained whilst he continued to live. It had been hundreds of years; to have _such constant pain-_ death seemed kind.

“I have served my purpose,” the King explained. “It’s no longer my time.”

“I…I understand.” Merlin whispered in return.

Hesitantly, he pulled out the crimson fang shot from the Manticore, one he had managed to salvage. At the time, it had been impulsive. Manticore venom was potent, but could be used in many spectacular ways if exploited correctly. Part of him had been foolish enough to think of _Gaius_ at the time – he would have _loved_ to see it, to teach Merlin all about it’s uses and dangers. Kneeling beside the throne, Merlin clasped the fang in his hand. Looking up to the relaxed King, he sighed. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with poisoning the _Fisher King,_ it wouldn’t bode well on his conscience.

“Will it hurt?”

The King chuckled at these words, clearly amused by them.

“Merlin, I have endured centuries of suffering. I can no longer feel pain; I fear I can no longer feel anything. Put me out of my misery for good.”

At these words, Merlin obediently plunged the fang into the King’s skin. No blood was spilt. Instantaneously, a violent breeze swept through the room. Shielding his face, Merlin held his hands over his head. He clamped his eyes shut tightly. Within seconds the shrieking wind vanished, with it any trace of the Fisher King. Opening his eyes, Merlin glanced around the empty room.

The King was gone.

Carefully, Merlin placed the vial of holy water in his satchel. It appeared that _all of this_ was perfectly timed by Fate, for none other than Arthur Pendragon stumbled through the door moments after. Eyes wide, he spotted the bronze Trident beside the noble chair.

Grinning, he brushed past a strangely pensive Merlin, tightening his grip around the Trident. He nudged the druid in the arm, laughter bursting out of his mouth.

“Ha! Look what _I’ve_ found!” he proclaimed, holding the Trident in the air proudly. Merlin was too overwhelmed to fight back and correct Arthur, for it was not _Arthur_ who had found the Trident _at all._ Patting the druid on the shoulder good-heartedly, Arthur made his way towards the door.

“Let’s get out of here, we still need to make it back to Ealdor in time.”

**♦☼♦**

To say Merlin had been remarkably quiet during their journey back to Ealdor would have been an understatement. Arthur clung to the trident in his hands, watching Merlin walking ahead in front of him. He was unsure how exactly to gage a reaction from the druid. The druid seemed locked in thought, meditative. Whatever was on his mind, he clearly wasn’t going to share it with _Arthur._ Still high on adrenaline and victory, Arthur grinned. Merlin was _not_ going to put dampen his spirits- he’d completed the quest! Childishly, he poked him with the metallic fork, causing the druid to turn around and scowl at him before marching forwards, lip curled up. Thrilled to _finally_ have some sort of interaction initiated, Arthur spoke.

“You know, I reckon I could have done that all by myself,” he mused aloud, giddy on the adrenaline of such an epic quest. He spared another awed gaze at the Trident. He didn’t have to say the next words; they were hanging in the air obviously. But he said them anyway, too blissfully caught up in his own conquest to care whether the druid took his teasing seriously.

“Without you.”

Scoffing, Merlin pushed a branch out of his way, ensuring it smacked Arthur square in the face as he walked behind him. Stubborn, _arrogant_ prat!

“Oh _really?_ That Manticore would have eaten you alive.” He recalled smoothly, not sinking to Arthur’s immature level. It had been a long day, full of a realm of emotions Merlin hadn’t had the chance to swim in yet or identify. Exhausting wasn’t quite the word. His magic was whimpering inside, begging for rest.

Arthur shrugged casually.

“I had it under control.”

Raising his eyebrows, Merlin stopped walking. He met the blonde’s eyes sternly.

“Getting confident are we? I was going to go easy on you in your first lesson but now I see no reason _why I should.”_

Arthur gazed around the dull withered part of the forest in distaste.

“Neither do I.” He admitted. “I’m not a simpleton, your lessons should barely scrape the surface of my superior strength and knowledge.” Merlin could almost _see_ the smug pride clouding around Arthur. If Arthur Pratdragon wanted to play this game- then that was just _fine._ He had an equally good pokerface.

“You’re _that_ confident you’ll find my lessons easy?” he asked, praying the prat would say yes just to spur on the mischief.

Arthur was stirred by the druid’s reaction, he seemed more _amused_ than insulted, as if indulging in a private joke. Feigning ignorance, Arthur continued.

“Oh it’ll be a _breeze_. Learn a few spells,” he raised his free palm dramatically. “restore the balance of nature, watch magical trees glow in the dark…”

A laugh escaped Merlin’s lips.

“Wow.” He breathed and continued walking. “You really do have all the makings of a _great leader_ don’t you?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have the fanmix please listen to track 24 "First Lesson".  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Ps- If you find the really obvious reference to a book I refuse to read - I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.  
> Pps- My Wyverns are a little bigger than the ones in the show.  
> :)

When Merlin had told Arthur his first lesson would begin early the next day, Arthur _hardly_ expected him to actually be serious. There were many hours in a single day, and how a lesson in _druid_ culture and magic could span more than a few hours- well Arthur didn’t know, but the _thought_ of studying for a long period of time vexed him. Nonetheless, Merlin was _so_ serious about this that the druid had woken him up _before_ the sun had fully risen, when the sky was still dusted in tints of pink and orange. The rest of the clan were peacefully dreaming.

To say Arthur was unimpressed would have been a fairly modest depiction of the truth, considering the scowl on his face. Regardless of this, he obediently packed the necessary supplies for the day, flinging them into Merlin’s brown satchel, and hoisting a few into his own backpack. Exiting Merlin’s room he tossed the druid the satchel, a little bewildered by the blinding, _bright_ smile plastered on the man’s face. Deciding not to rise to the _obvious_ bait, Arthur frowned, trudging forwards with a yawn.

“Any reason in particular why we’re up so early?” he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

“It’s going to take us a few hours to get within teleporting reach of our destination.” Merlin said, far too chirpy and laidback for Arthur’s liking.

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur studied the feigned innocence and joy plastered over the druid’s face. Well, it _had_ to be feigned because there was _no way_ Merlin would be _happy_ about having to spend all of his time with Arthur Pendragon. It just didn’t make _sense._ Sure, the pair of them had bonded a bit on the Quest, but they were _far from_ friends, barely even acquaintances. He took a step forwards into Merlin’s personal space, eyeing him cautiously. Part of him hoped to detect some kind of counterfeit with the druid’s persona; it definitely would have settled his conscience- that was for sure.

“Something wrong?” the druid enquired, titling his head in confusion at Arthur’s behaviour.

Resignedly, Arthur turned away after having detected nothing but sincerity and genuine joy in the druid’s composure. Without words, he stumbled forwards, calling Merlin to his side rather pompously. Raising his eyebrows, Merlin steered Arthur in the right direction, scolding him for his tone.

“You can’t just _summon_ me like that, I’m not your manservant.” Merlin chided with a click of his tongue, his tone far more playful than Arthur had ever heard it. He assumed it was just because Merlin seemed to be unusually perky in the mornings.

“No,” Arthur mused, eye glinting mischievously. “But if you _were_ , I’d imagine you’d be the worst servant known to mankind.”

“That’s of course, assuming you’d be the imbecilic, royal pratface then?” Merlin replied with a grin, diving out of reach of Arthur’s hands.

How _either_ of them were going to manage a _whole day_ alone together, it was honestly beyond him.

**♦☼♦**

The Mountains of Ghedent were truly spectacular, more grand and magnificent than they had been flying over Albion. Right now, Merlin had teleported them into to a smaller mountainous region, where the imposing giants that Arthur was sure was home to many great legends and heroic tales painted the horizon. Gaping, he studied the vast peaks escalating into the sky endlessly. Even some of the _clouds_ were enshrouded around their bodies, their structures tremendously big. This modest region they were standing on however, consisted of a handful of Fault-block Mountains; giant rocky faces with a majority of their skin consumed in vegetation. It appeared the altitude of these mountains was not able to welcome the conditions needed for snow. Despite the mountains seeming less inferior, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like this region had a particularly deceitful undertone. Whatever it was, he couldn’t put his finger on. But he didn’t like it.

“Where exactly are we?” He asked, uncomfortable with the idea of walking along the explicitly narrow pathway on the edge of the mountainside. Merlin walked with ease, oblivious to the fact that if he slipped he’d probably _die._ He must have been here before, he seemed _too_ comfortable with the treacherous environment, Arthur deduced. 

Turning his head back to a motionless Arthur, clearly too stunned by their current location to move, Merlin shot him a blinding grin.

“This is Mánhús.” He supplied enigmatically, gesturing for Arthur to walk forwards with his hand.

Breathing deeply, the blonde hesitantly stumbled towards Merlin. One hand clung onto the rock behind him, the other blindly wavering in front of him, as if it would help him maintain his balance. He ignored Merlin’s evident amusement. This definitely wasn’t funny. Parts of the soil were crumbling off and falling down into the abyss of the forest beneath his feet! Eventually reaching the safe-haven of secure ground, which admittedly had absolutely _nothing_ to do with Merlin, Arthur breathed a sigh. They stood on a plateau of the mountain, exquisitely carved – by either nature or man it was unclear which. Judging by the calculated archway leading towards another narrow passage, Arthur assumed the druids had reinforced this structure.

Quickly, he regained composure, posture straight, eyes alert. Merlin smiled knowingly at him.

“What exactly does M…Mahnhushe-“

“ _Mánhús_ -” Merlin interjected.

“-mean?”

He met Arthur’s eyes playfully, smile widening to the degree where it almost looked a little sinister. Dispelling that gruesome expression from his mind, Arthur averted his vision, assured he was not going to be getting a response. For now, Merlin seemed content in leaving him in the dark with all of this. Whether that was a good thing or not, he didn’t know. But one thing he _did_ know: Merlin was becoming increasingly annoying with his blatant overdramatic bliss, almost indulging in his own private joke. Merlin paced forwards, through the thin archway.

“So how are you feeling?” Arthur followed him through the archway, noticing the engravings in the walls, ancient symbols of some kind. “First lesson and all, _nervous?”_

Merlin’s tone sounded challenging. Foolishly Arthur rose to the teasing.

“Nope. I can do _anything_ you throw my way.” The blonde boasted, parading forwards with a pronounced arrogance.

“Still playing the part of the stupid prat then?”

“Yes,” Arthur snorted sarcastically. “Just as you are playing the part of the idiot.”

He’d been too engrossed to notice the change in atmosphere. Merlin came to a halt by the end of the narrow pathway; a hushed laugh escaped his lips. From in front of Merlin, cascading droplets of water that trickled over the archway obstructed the view. Though that _didn’t_ muffle the peculiar noises coming from ahead; the rustling, the evident fact that something was there. Satisfied, Merlin leant towards Arthur.

“Now we’re here, why don’t we get started? You hear that?”

The words were right on cue. Swallowing-hard, Arthur nodded because _yes,_ he did hear the strident _roar_ blasting through his ears. It was quickly followed by a couple more. The roar sounded ominous, that was for sure. Certain his student had heard it, Merlin continued – his blinding happiness morphing into smugness.

“That’s the sound of a Wyvern nesting ground.”

“What’s a Wyvern?” Arthur swiftly responded, not liking the direction of this conversation one bit.

Narrowing his eyes, a wry smirk plastered on his face, Merlin tugged Arthur forwards.

“Why don’t we go and see-?”

“I don’t think I want to-”

“ _-Too late!”_ with that Merlin pushed them both through the mini waterfall.

Eyes wide, Arthur studied the sight ahead. The Wyverns looked like some kind of relative to a Dragon. They have reptilian features, but also features of mythological origin. They were each the size of a horse alone, four legged with pronounced hind legs. Their scaly skin varied in colour. From what Arthur could see it was many shades of grey, possibly even fifty. Sprouting from its face were prominent horns. Some of these Wyverns had horns that coiled and curled complexly, whilst others were seemingly fresh stubs on their heads. They were fully equipped with defensive and offensive claws; their jaws were littered with teeth. There must have been about a hundred of them, nestling around the large plateau.

“They don’t look friendly.” He stated bluntly, watching a pair fight each other.

“They’re not.” Merlin admitted, false anxiety lacing his voice. “In fact, if you don’t know how to deal with them properly, you could end up with a nasty injury,” picking his fingernails casually, Merlin paused. “or _worse.”_

“How _do_ you deal with them?” Arthur hissed, more and more afraid they would be spotted in the corner and attacked.

“I thought you said my lessons were going to be easy and that you could do _anything_ I threw your way?” picking up on the mischievous tone embedded in the voice, Arthur came to a realisation of what exactly _this_ lesson was.

Embarrassment flushed over his body. Merlin was _sly,_ and he had _tricked him._ He’d brought him _all the way_ out here just to make an example and prove a wretched point, teach him a lesson! Leaning against the wall, Merlin deviously tilted his head towards the nesting grounds, enjoying the look of astonishment on Arthur’s face. He’d clearly guessed his game finally, but that didn’t mean he had to stop playing for a few more minutes.

“You _have_ made it clear that you are _exceptionally_ knowledgeable in everything to do with Albion,” shrugging the druid met the man’s eyes. “What do you need _my_ guidance for? Go and figure it out for yourself.” 

Uncertain, and increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, especially Merlin’s newfound authority, Arthur frowned.

“No.”

Blinking in surprise, Merlin pushed himself off the stone, cocking his head to one side.

“…No?”

“I’m sorry.” Arthur spat out before he could stop himself, adrenaline and embarrassment grasping him by the shoulders.

Merlin folded his arms across his chest, sending the man a pointed look. Arthur sighed laboriously, ploughing a hand through his hair, chucking his eyes to the ground rapidly. This was all _so_ embarrassing. Thank _god_ nobody else was around to witness this- especially Morgana. Nonetheless, he found as he started to speak, sincerity crawled into his voice.

“It was… _rude_ of me to insult you and suggest that you were a bad teacher.”

For a moment, Merlin observed the young Pendragon silently, eyes studying the genuine discomfiture on that handsome face. Bringing his eyes slowly to those alluring blue eyes, Merlin gazed into them. Silence hovered around the pair, and Arthur felt himself feeling ridiculously self-conscious underneath the gaze of this druid. He’d apologised, that’s what Merlin had wanted- _right?_ Then why on earth was he still _looking_ at him like that? This surprising layer of Arthur Pendragon was intriguing, and sent an unfamiliar warmth through Merlin’s skin. Perhaps there _was_ some truth to the Crystals after all.

Abruptly, Merlin’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a fresh smile on his face. He outstretched his hand. Reluctantly, Arthur reached for the hand, unsure what exactly this gesture signified between them. They shook quickly and efficiently claimed back their hands, acting as if such a proclamation of something _close to friendship_ had never happened.

“How about we start at lesson one?” Merlin asked, steering the pair of them out of the Wyvern nest quietly.

“I’d like that.” Arthur replied earnestly, trying to hide the smile creeping over his face.

The pair walked in silence for a few minutes, _strangely_ content with each other’s company. Unable to sustain this, because this wasn’t how Arthur functioned- and Merlin was somehow irresistibly easy to argue with, the blonde broke it.

“You never told me what Mánhús meant, _Mer_ lin.”

Choking back a laugh, Merlin turned to Arthur with a broad grin accentuating his cheekbones. His next words were rewarded by a deadpan look, and then Arthur’s attempt to grab the agile druid. That’s how the pair of them ended up _running –_ to be more specific: Arthur chasing Merlin - childishly through the forests of Albion. Beacause apparently, Mánhús meant:

“Place of wicked hell.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up to one of my favourite parts of the story :) ! Enjoy this chapter.

To say Arthur _might have_ broken the rules of his agreement to stay in Ealdor would have been an understatement. Here he was, waltzing through the forest with Lancelot and Gwaine by his side, leading them to the Ealdor clan. Well, it had mainly been _Gwaine’s_ idea. Leon, who was desperate to come along, was mortified to discover he was no longer permitted. Uther had reassigned Leon to a higher position in the project, meaning the majority of his time was spent in the base. What exactly this new position was, Arthur and his friends didn’t know. It made him uneasy, knowing his father was making _other_ secret plans around the Albion Project. It made him think about how much he _actually_ knew.

The forest was shrouded with morning mist, refreshing and cool against their faces. Gwaine was _refusing_ to shut-up, clearly excited about visiting the clan. It had been a week since Arthur had completed the quest with Merlin. The Trident of the Fisher King now stood valiantly at the top of the plateau where Balinor, Hunith and Merlin stood in the druid meetings. The Elders were surprised by his swift return. Neither Merlin or Arthur revealed the _depth_ of the danger they had faced; hypothermia, Manticore, crumbling towers, the _Orthena._ It was their private adventure. But Merlin had been…cryptically silent since. That much was clear. Arthur wasn’t sure how to ask Merlin _what_ or if anything had happened in the abandoned castle that was troubling him. They weren’t exactly close enough to have sentimental conversations.

Flinging one of the large fern branches from his face, Arthur cast a glance towards Gwaine and Lancelot. The pair smiled back at him, Gwaine still _talking_ more to himself than to the others because Lance and Arthur had stopped listening to the rambling by now. They came to the clearing, the tip of the ancient forest, covered by the arms of the trees. Lancelot widened his eyes in astonishment, Gwaine stopped talking, mouth open. Arthur grinned at their expressions and pushed forwards into Ealdor. The pair of them followed hesitantly, eyes gazing around the expanse of land. Trying to drink in all the surroundings was overwhelming. The clan was peaceful, a safe-haven. And _there,_ a little higher up in the near distance – the…

“The Crystal _Cave!”_ Lancelot breathed, taking out his flashy phone. He took a photo eagerly, shooting Gwaine a smile. “Leon is going to be _so_ jealous.”

Inhaling a fresh breath of Ealden air, Arthur chuckled to himself at the prospect. Viewing the Crystal Cave via a picture sent by Lancelot’s phone was _not_ going to go down well with Leon at _all._ He would no doubt become restless, demanding to know every explicit detail of the cave, and of the druid people also. Morgana would be the one subjected to listen to his lectures of course.

Now Arthur knew _technically_ he had just violated one of the rules set by Balinor, brining two _new_ people back to the clan. But that didn’t matter _too much_ right? Things seemed to be pretty relaxed around here…the people had been far more pleasant to him recently than at first. It had only been two weeks and already many were trying to start conversation with him. All but _one_ of course. Speak of the devil, the infuriated Will strode over menacingly, causing a scene.

“You can’t just _bring_ people here!” he exclaimed in horror, eyeing up Lancelot and Gwaine viciously. Lance quickly put his phone away, in case it was viewed as some kind of hostile weapon. “Who do you think you _are?!_ You’re not one of us, you can’t just do whatever you damn-well please.”

Raising his eyebrows, Gwaine smirked.

“Well aren’t _you_ a bundle of fun and joy.”

It took every single ounce of concentration within him _not_ to laugh or grin at Gwaine’s flippant comment. Instead, Arthur remained silent, glowering back at Will. The idiot’s dramatic shouting had drawn far more attention towards them. In fact, Arthur swallowed-hard, Balinor was walking towards him this very moment. He didn’t look happy. _Shit!_ Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. Shuffling in his place awkwardly, Arthur met Balinor’s stern gaze.

“We made it clear to you that _no-one_ should follow you here.” He cast his eyes towards the two strangers. “And yet you disobey our negotiation which allows you to stay.”

At these words the druids hovering around called out in agreement, poking and jibing the newcomers fearfully. Arthur was dumbfounded into silence, unsure what exactly to say. He had gotten himself into this situation; his father would _kill him_ if he was chucked out of Ealdor now. That would be the end of everything they’d worked for. He spotted a mound of black hair pushing through the crowd and sighed in relief. Merlin pushed his way to the front, exchanging glances between Arthur, Balinor and Will.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice severe.

“Hey John Smith,” a handsome, _familiar_ rugged face called out. “Got any more hilarious names for Arthur?”

It took Merlin a few moments to process the voice _._ Gazing into those eyes glinting with unabashed mischief, Merlin burst into a fond laugh, surprising all around him. Walking towards the man, he grinned and caught him in a hug.

“Gwaine!” he said aloud, recalling the man’s name.

“Good to see you too.” Gwaine replied.

Personally, Arthur thought these two were not well enough acquainted for _hugging_ and laughing and _joking_ around together. Gwaine hardly _knew_ Merlin. He’d met him _once,_ in an elevator, for ten minutes. Not to mention that was _many months_ ago now. Gruffly, Arthur folded his arms over his chest, glowering at their embrace, which had endured for _too long._ Lancelot glanced coyly over to Arthur, earning his very own glower. Releasing Gwaine, Merlin’s features lit up. He turned to his father and Arthur wished that _he_ could evoke such natural glee from the druid. Obviously confused, Balinor studied his son’s relaxed composure.

“You know these men?”

Nodding, Merlin outstretched a hand warmly towards the two strangers. He’d never met the tanned, handsome man but if he was a friend of Gwaine and Arthur, surely he was to be trusted.

“Yes. They helped me escape Camelot when I went to find Gaius.” A few gasps sounded from all around and Balinor’s concerned expression faltered slightly. Yes, this was a blatant lie. They hadn’t helped him escape; he’d met them in an elevator.

“They’re trust-worthy. And has Arthur not proven himself pure of heart?” sending Arthur a gentle smile, Merlin continued.

“He has not led anyone of bad intention to this place.”

There was a curious silence lingering around the crowd. Balinor, deeply confused and anxious, studied his son’s face carefully. Will was standing opposite Merlin, face burning crimson, fists clenched. For good measure, Merlin added some more reassuring words.

“If you don’t trust _them,_ trust me.”

Those words seemed to pacify his motionless father.

“I give these two men permission to stay in Ealdor.”

Releasing the breath he had held in, Arthur broke into a smile. Turning to Lancelot and Gwaine happily he observed their excited faces. When he met Merlin’s eyes, suddenly dark and full of _something,_ Arthur realised he should probably stick to propriety with _some things._ Smile fading, he bowed his head towards Balinor.

“Thank you Balinor.” He said in a low voice.

Balinor said nothing. He glanced over to Merlin once more before dismissing the crowd and walking back towards the plateau. The moment he left, all four of the men burst into broad smiles. Merlin turned to Gwaine and the stranger amiably.

“Sorry about that.” Merlin said, a little giddy.

He hadn’t met this many _new people_ since childhood- apart from the arrival of Gwenevere of course. It wasn’t customary to visit other clans unless major events occurred. Each druid clan was a tight network, everybody knew everybody. The thought of having some new faces around, new people with different believes- different thoughts- was fascinating, exciting. Merlin knew he probably _shouldn’t_ be this ecstatic about it, but he was and he couldn’t hide it either.

“The clan aren’t too keen on visitors as you probably saw.” He added sheepishly.

“Well they were worse with _me.”_ Arthur responded, wincing at the memory of his first few moments in the clan.

Merlin didn’t respond, studying Gwaine and Lancelot with curiosity. Gwaine held a hand out to Merlin, smiling ruggedly

“I never took you to be a _liar.”_ He mused cheekily as Merlin shook his hand.

Flushing, Merlin turned his attention to the stranger. He had tanned skin, and dark brown eyes. His tousled dark hair fell over his forehead a little, the rest brushed neatly back. Like Gwaine, he too had a layer of stubble only it seemed more well-kept and shorter than the other man’s. Extending his hand, the stranger smiled, his smile was soft and unintentionally seductive.

“I’m Lancelot,” he spoke politely. “nice to meet you Merlin.”

“Pleasure.” Merlin said, beckoning for a blushing Gwenevere to step forwards. “These are my friends Gwen,”

Arthur smiled fondly at the woman. Her brown curly hair was pulled back into a neat bun. She was dressed in a modest yellow gown. Gwen curtsied towards the two men, a smile on her face. She walked towards Lancelot first, holding her hand out.

“Hello.” She said.

Reaching for her hand, Lancelot kissed it, gazing up at her pensively. She cast a look over to Merlin, blushing. Merlin grinned in delight. Moving to Gwaine she shook his hand, and Arthur was astounded that Gwaine didn’t try one of his ridiculous pick-up lines. Quickly, Gwen moved to Merlin’s side, eyes on the floor nervously.

“And…” scanning the area, Merlin sighed as he met the brown-haired man. “Will.” There he was, sulking in the corner childishly, causing a load of unnecessary drama. All eyes turned to him. Gwaine chuckled.

“Ah, the ray of sunshine.”

“You’ll get used to it, _trust me.”_ Arthur muttered, leaning towards Gwaine in case the other man heard.

“I heard that!” the furious Will shouted from where he was sat, now glaring dangerously at the newcomers. “You’re lucky I haven’t come over there and used my magic to…”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin drew their attention back to himself, Will’s empty threats fading into the background of the scene. He gestured to all around them proudly.

“Welcome to Ealdor.”

Then he turned to Arthur with a smile, Arthur felt a nervous shudder rush through his body, knowing what was coming. The week had been full of mundane chores, helping other druids with dull tasks and entertaining the children. It was a preparation for his lessons with Merlin whilst Merlin finished off things he had to do. Apparently, Merlin had tonnes of things to finish before delving into training with Arthur. He had told Arthur he had _at least_ a month’s work to finish. How on _earth_ he had crammed all of that into _one week_ was beyond Arthur, it must have had something to do with magic. But now, the _real_ work had begun. Now, Merlin was officially Arthur’s mentor, teaching him the ways of magic and the druids.

“If you excuse us, Arthur’s first official lesson is about to begin!”

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thanks to everyone who's been reading so far, hope you're enjoying it!
> 
> This is one of my favourite parts because the tone is so much lighter. It's more like a remix/compilation. Like in the film AVATAR when Jake Sully is learning the ways of the Na' Vi it's short snippets over the course of a few months. 
> 
> That's what I'm doing because - I'm sure you don't want to read every single detail about every day for the next 3-4 months (if you do, I'm working on "bonus scenes" to release after the story is finished!) 
> 
> So here we go! The fun begins next few chapters, and we're kind of jumping forwards in time each scene.
> 
> If you have my FANMIX/Official Soundtrack - please listen to track 24.  
> If you don't PLEASE please, pretty PLEASE youtube: "See you Tomorrow - John Powell" - kind of mood I'm going for in this chappie :)

Lesson one, funnily enough turned out to be something Arthur Pendragon had made a blunder of many weeks ago. It was as if Merlin was _teasing_ him.

“I am _not_ doing that. You _know_ how I feel about that.” Arthur said gruffly, watching as Merlin swung across the vine effortlessly, a grin on his face. Landing on the other side, he tossed the vine back over. Arthur didn’t catch it, a look of irritation on his face. The _prat._

“Come on Arthur,” Merlin taunted with a laugh. “It’s _easy.”_ Memories of his last encounter with a vine triggered a small smile to slip over Arthur’s lips. Rolling his eyes, he reached for the vine. If this was what it would take to gain acceptance into the clan, and ensure their safety, Arthur guessed he’d have to complete _all_ of Merlin’s ridiculous lessons.

**♦☼♦**

“Ic æalá ðu.” Arthur repeated dully, unsure what exactly he was supposed to feel. He felt nothing.

Lancelot sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair.

“Yes. I see you-”

Arthur snorted at his words.

“Well, _obviously,_ you have _eyes-“_ at this he was rewarded with a pointed look.

“No it’s not _just that._ It’s as in I see _you,_ I see through you, into your soul.”

Arthur couldn’t help himself, because he’d never heard anything so _stupid_ in his entire life. He laughed.

“Don’t laugh Arthur! You’re supposed to learning their ways.”

**♦☼♦**

Arthur should have known _better_ than to think he’d never see that _ridiculous_ fluffy red bird again. Gwaine and Lancelot were in hysterics, watching the alarm and rage swathe Arthur’s complexion as he heard the annoying chirp. Ábilgest flew down onto his shoulder, nuzzling its face against his neck in a gesture that revealed it had missed him. Merlin raised his eyebrows.

“Who’s _this_ Arthur?” he cooed, petting the adorable bird, amused by the blonde’s flushed face. It was evident he was embarrassed to show any kind of attachment to the creature.

Gwaine grinned, not able to help himself.

“Arthur’s forest friend-”

“-Ábilgest.” Arthur snapped petulantly because if Ábilgest was going to stay, they may as well call it by its _actual_ name.

Merlin snorted at the name, immediately understanding what it meant in the druid tongue: annoying, irritating, pest.

“ _Charming_. _”_ He said sardonically, shooting Arthur a smirk as he studied the way Ábilgest seemed to agree with him, lilac eyes sparkling in dismay.

“Well, Ábilgest.” Merlin sighed, craning his head towards the bird on Arthur’s shoulder. Ábilgest instantly cheered up, tilting its head to the side. Arthur rolled is eyes dramatically. “Welcome to Ealdor!”

**♦☼♦**

“Try again.” Merlin snapped petulantly, inhaling a large deep of breath through his nose to calm his impatience.

“I can’t do it!” Arthur whined, in a fashion resembling a child. Ábilgest perched on the ground beside Arthur, nudging him supportively. Arthur shoved the bird away with his foot apathetically. Stupid bird.

“Stop being an ungrateful brat, you should feel _privileged_ that magic has accepted you.” Merlin sighed, trouble lacing his eyes for a split second. “Magic doesn’t accept _everyone_ Arthur _–_ it has chosen you.”

Outstretching his hand, Merlin conjured an orb in his hands, raising his eyebrows at his student expectantly. It was _unfair._ Merlin made it look _so_ god damn easy, and beautiful. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur held out his own palm, heart racing. He spoke the words in druid tongue once again, as instructed. Instead of a tranquil orb, a chaotic explosion of colours and light spewed from his palm, pathetically fading into oblivion. The force of it pushed Arthur over, and Merlin had to press a hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“You’re really getting the hang of this magic lark aren’t you Arthur?” Gwaine jibed humorously from the corner of the tree, a grin on his face.

“Shut-up _Gwaine.”_ Arthur bellowed, clambering back onto his feet. He pretended he didn’t see the way Merlin’s eyes lit up in mirth as he exchanged a glance with Gwaine.

“Again, Arthur.” Merlin said, lips twitching upwards unwillingly.

**♦☼♦**

“Come _on.”_ Merlin wailed, this time _he_ was acting like the child as he gazed down at Arthur on the ground.

“I’ve done this _fifteen_ times now.” Arthur called up to the druid, stubbornness emanating from his features.

“It’s still not to my satisfaction, you’d barely make it out alive if you had to climb for your life.” The man in the trees retorted rudely, continuing to climb upwards with his expert agility. Elegantly, he landed on a branch, gazing down at Arthur. Sighing, Arthur pushed his hands into the grooves of the giant tree.

“ _Fine._ But this is the _last_ time!”

It took Arthur _five minutes_ to make it up to Merlin’s level, which in Merlin’s eyes wasn’t good enough. Panting, completely drained, Arthur shot a satisfied look over at his teacher. Merlin smiled at him, ruffling his hair.

“Better.”

Resting his head against the trunk of the tree, Arthur regained his breath. When he opened his eyes, Merlin was metres above him, climbing.

“Now do it again!” he called down to the blonde.

**♦☼♦**

The pair of them were nestled behind a bush, Merlin peered through the leaves cautiously, Arthur pretended to know what he was looking for, or what they were doing. After a few moments of silence, Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but was silence as Merlin raised is hand, putting a finger to his own lips. Obediently, Arthur kept quiet, following Merlin as they crawled through the bed of leaves.

“When approaching a unicorn you must be _gentle_ and quiet, they’re extremely rare.” Merlin explained in a whisper, continuing to crawl forwards. Arthur stopped, cupping his mouth to mute his laughter. Gazing over his shoulder, Merlin glanced back at him.

“What’s so funny?”

Arthur got to his feet when Merlin did, walking alongside the delirious druid with a lopsided grin.

“There’s no such _thing_ as unicorns Merlin.” He spat.

“Oh really?” Merlin asked, coming to a halt, eyes focused on something in the foreground. Amusement flickered across his face for a moment, replaced with admiration. “What’s that then?”

Looking in the same direction, Arthur gaped at the sight. A beautiful, innocent white horse was grazing in the grass not too far ahead. It had a silvery mane and tail, hooves twinkling with some kind of magic. From its head sprouted a large horn. Turning to Merlin in awe, he felt a smile brush over his face.

**♦☼♦**

“Keep up will you?” Merlin yelled from in front, expertly diving under logs and leaping over obstacles.

And here, Arthur thought _he_ was the fastest runner out of the two. Stumbling clumsily over the root of a tree, the blonde continued.

“I _am.”_ He called back through gasps of air, beads of sweat dripping down his face.

All of a sudden Merlin disappeared from in front of him, weaving sophisticatedly through the hanging branches above Arthur’s head. Dropping himself down next to him, not a trace of sweat on his forehead, Merlin sighed melodramatically. Ábilgest fluttered down onto Merlin’s shoulder, a look of disapproval on its ridiculous face.

“Arthur. For sure, you’d be _dead_ by now!”

**♦☼♦**

“How’s that?” Arthur said, holding the bow and arrow in his hands as instructed. It didn’t feel _right._ He’d told Merlin time and time again he was swordsmen. But _no,_ Merlin thought it would be beneficial for him to learn _all kinds of combat._

Frowning, Merlin shook his head.

“Higher.” He supplied drearily, going back to reading his book. Archery was the least of his favourite things to teach, mainly because everyone was so hopeless at it.

“Like this?” Arthur called out, and Merlin turned from his book with a roll of his eyes.

“ _Lower.”_ Lowering the bow and arrow, Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Getting to his feet, Merlin strode towards the insufferable blonde, _incapable_ of holding such a simple weapon. Instinctively, he reached behind Arthur, moulding his arms and body into a better position. Arthur remained silent. His hand slid down the chest, tapping it impatiently. Breath a little ragged, because it was a sweltering day _of course,_ Arthur broadened his chests, changing his position as Merlin directed slowly. Releasing the arrow from the bow in a swift movement, he watched it hit the target effortlessly.

“ _Did you see that?!”_ he shrieked with a blinding grin, turning around to face Merlin.

The raven-haired man grinned back, eyes crinkled. It appeared both of them forgot that Merlin was still holding onto him until Arthur tried to twist himself all the way round and found Merlin’s constricting grip was stopping him. Coughing awkwardly, the druid quickly ducked his head to the ground, cheeks flushed. Without catching Arthur’s eye, he trudged back to his book. And then that _horrible_ word fell from his lips.

“Again.”

**♦☼♦**

“Hand out.” Arthur murmured to himself more than to Merlin who was standing beside him. The druid nodded silently. 

“Eyes focused,” the blonde recited. “Mind clear-”

“-Stop talking, you’re losing all your focus.” Merlin ordered in a low drone, examining the position of Arthur’s hand carefully.

 _Mind clear…_ Arthur thought to himself internally.

Then the twig, fragile and light, started levitating out of its own will. Merlin leant forwards in fascination, clearly impressed by his student’s progress. Arthur never took his eyes off the object, but he sure did take his _mind_ off it.

_Mind c-HEY MERLIN I’M DOING IT-_

“­-Stop shouting into my brain you _dollophead!”_ Clamping a hand over his ears, knowing it wouldn’t help, Merlin winced at the shouting echoing through his mind. The twig collapsed onto the floor. Sheepishly, Arthur glanced over to his mentor who looked less impressed by the second. He could guess the word about to leave the man’s mouth.

“Again?” he asked with a sigh, extending his hand outwards. He failed to spot the fond smile making its way over Merlin’s face.

**♦☼♦**

“Arthur,” Morgana said, surprise on her face as the blonde man walked through Camelot Base.

He held up a hand, still out of breath from whatever Merlin had been making him do before teleporting here.

“-I’m not staying for long, just checking up.” Unable to walk and talk at the same time, he pressed a hand to the wall next to him, inhaling large gulps of air. Stupid, bloody _Merlin_ and his lessons.

Titling her head coyly, Morgana smirked examining the peculiar colours smeared over his skin.

“What’s that on your face?” she asked, smirk widening when Arthur’s eyes _lit up_ of all things.

“Oh it’s paint.” He said simply, as if it was a normal occurrence.

Raising her eyebrows, she nodded in understanding, feigning nonchalance.

“Paint…” she overstressed the ‘t’, eyes flickering with mirth.

“Yes, Merlin’s teaching me how to disguise myself from-” narrowing his eyes, Arthur frowned, realising she was mocking him. “ _Stop laughing!”_

With that he continued walking, Morgana followed in glee.

“This Merlin boy’s got you wrapped around his finger!” 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the fanmix - Track 26 "Magic" is the one that fits this chapter. But the final scene Track 27 - "A Dangerous Game" is what I had in mind.
> 
> Yet again this is a compilation chapter, kind of helping us jump through time without boring you all with every single detail.
> 
> Things are going to get interesting soon... Enjoy!

Lunging forwards, Arthur caught the small rodent in his hands, examining its camouflaged verdant fur in wonder. Merlin crouched down beside him and smiled. After _hours_ of trying to match the agility of this creature with magic, Arthur had succeeded. Then a loud, abrupt noise from behind them caused both of them to jump, resulting in Arthur’s hands parting, and the creature running away. Part of the Arthur wasn’t surprised to see Will standing there, glaring at him. Despite Arthur getting along with Gwen and Merlin, he still was having problems convincing Will that he could be trusted. Standing, Merlin frowned, walking towards his friend. It was evident that there was a strain on their relationship. Arthur had hardly seen the two of them talk recently. Swallowing-hard, he watched Merlin turn his attention to Will.

“What are you doing here? This is a private lesson.” He said coldly, twisting his lips into a contort.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t mind me Merlin.” Funny, he didn’t sound sorry at all.

Scoffing incredulously at his friend’s stubborn behaviour, Merlin gazed hopelessly up into the sky as if he believed the heavens would bring him a viable solution. None came. William was becoming more hostile towards everybody by the minute. Merlin was unsure how much more of his friend’s insolence he could take. Exhaling, he cast his eyes over to the brown-haired man, clearly exasperated.

“Why are you being like this?” he finally asked, attempting to slice through the pressure building between them.

Pointing a finger towards Merlin, Will averted his eyes to Arthur for a moment, who was pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping rather badly.

“You know why.” He muttered, drawing his eyes back to Merlin’s severe face.

Cupping his mouth for a moment, Merlin sighed. Yes. He _did_ know why. He’d known William his _entire life._ It wasn’t easy – watching him become more and more distant because of the events of Destiny. In fact, it kept Merlin up for many nights. Even trying to make a civil conversation with him had proved difficult recently. Merlin wondered if he was the same with Gwen. He made note to ask her later.

“Will,” Merlin lowered his voice, bowing his head for a moment. “Don’t bring what happened to your father into this-”

“-I’m not!” Will aggressively snapped back, drawing Arthur’s attention towards them less subtly.

Taken-aback by the sudden outburst, Merlin studied the hollow eyes, merely an echo of what they once were.

“I see.” Merlin replied calmly, tone even and drenched in desperation for _some_ kind of reaction, _something._ Their eyes met slowly, releasing an atomic explosion into the air chaotically. Neither said a word, lingering in the awkward, thick silence, weighing them down. Then, as Arthur rose to his feet from the ground, Will spoke.

“You’d better be going, don’t you have things to do?” his tone was laced in potent venom, biting straight into Merlin’s breaking heart savagely. Merlin _wished_ he could resolve this feud once and for all, right _now._ But now wasn’t the time. Bravely, he masked his hurt behind a void of emotion. He drew his lips into a firm line.

“I suppose you’re right, William.”

Picking up his satchel on the ground, Merlin brushed past Will forcefully. He was glad to make it past his friend before the prickly sensation in his eyes collapsed into hot tears over his cheeks. It was not _un_ usual for them to argue. But to this degree – well things had never gotten _this_ bad before. Arthur followed Merlin bleakly, wavering behind the druid, not able to see the tears on his cheeks. Wiping a hand over his face quickly, Merlin inhaled a deep breath and turned to Arthur. Judging by the exposed concern etching its way over Arthur’s face, Merlin assumed he’d done a lousy job at covering up his sorrow. Arthur frowned. Merlin’s eyes were red and watery, full of sadness. His lips were clenched together, complexion pallid.

“Onto our next lesson.” Merlin said swiftly, continuing to walk forwards determinedly.

Arthur was unsure what exactly to say, it was obvious Merlin didn’t want to talk about it. He cast one look back at Will before stumbling forwards silently.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur reluctantly reached his hand out, patting the violet Wyvern on its back. It snapped towards his hand, warning him to keep his distance. Casting a glance over to Merlin, who was at ease beside this creature, he frowned.

“Don’t look it in the eye,” Merlin explained, stroking the scaly skin affectionately.

“Why?”

“Because it’s _my_ Wvyern. It sees you as a meal. A Wyvern will fly with one druid its whole life once you’ve bonded with it.” Jumping onto the back of the small dragon, Merlin whispered something, eyes glowing gold.

In a flash the Wyvern leapt from the thick tree, soaring around the sky. Merlin steered them to fly past Arthur. At this spectacle of flying a _dragon –_ a burst of raw laughter erupted. He couldn’t _wait_ for when his time came to try that himself.

**♦☼♦**

Merlin, and Gwenevere for that matter, were in fits of laughter, to the point where both of them had to hold onto the other to maintain upright. Ábilgest  was flying around the pair in delight, fluttering its wings faster than necessary whenever it looked upon the scene. Burrying her face into Merlin’s jacket, Gwen _tried,_ she honestly _tried_ to hold her composure together and look Arthur square in the eye without a trace of amusement. But it was just _impossible._ Cupping one hand to his mouth, holding Gwen with the other, Merlin shook his head, glee radiating from his eyes. Ábilgest landed on Merlin’s shoulder, singing a…well a bloody _á_ _bilgest_ song. To say that Arthur was _not_ impressed by their display was an understatement. Then again, it wasn’t like he could _do_ anything to stop it, because he was _stuck._

He was stuck in a hole, in the ground, a hole which _yes_ Merlin had warned him about. _Watch out for the holes Arthur, they’re ancient traps set by the land to catch out strangers who don’t understand or respect her ways_ – and how was he to believe that _really?_ That was ridiculous. It sounded like something a heavily intoxicated person would say. Naturally, he hadn’t listened _of course,_ because he knew _so much_ more about Ealdor than Merlin…of course. Now, he had fallen through a hole, just big enough to suck in his legs and waist, leaving his upper body and arms scrambling around.

“Something wrong Arthur?” Merlin asked, unable to sustain the look of innocence plastered across his face.

“I’m…I’m stuck.” He replied with a sigh, willing to admit he was wrong in order to get out of the damn ground.

Bringing a hand to his chin, Merlin studied Arthur’s situation, pulling a comedic face.

“Hmmm…I guess you are.” Grinning he whispered something in Gwen’s ear. She gasped audibly at it and slapped him across the wrist, still laughing nonetheless. The pair shared a mischievous glance.

“Ábilgest,” Arthur began, then narrowed his eyes. What was he _thinking?_ Ábilgest wouldn’t help him. The bird was _far too_ amused by all of this, _encouraging_ Merlin’s laughter. Gazing between Merlin, Ábilgest and Gwen, Arthur smiled. He met Gwen’s eyes and she looked away quickly, clearly feeling a bit guilty about all of this. That was _all_ the proof he needed.

“Gwenevere,” Arthur said, voice low, turning his charm on. “You’re a fine, _lovely_ young woman. Help me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin pouted.

“ _Don’t_ do it Gwen, he’s brainwashing you-”

“-Gwen, come on. There’s not a _bad bone_ in your body, unlike _Mer_ lin here.” Merlin grinned at the accusation, meeting Arthur’s eyes playfully. “You wouldn’t _leave me.”_

Gwen walked towards Arthur with a blinding smile, laughing as she watched Merlin feign upset behind her.

“All our years of friendship,” he said jokingly, shaking his head in dismay. “ _thrown away.”_

**♦☼♦**

“Arthur _come on!”_ the familiar druid said, rushing over from the crowd, face slightly flushed.

“No, no and _no.”_ Arthur replied stubbornly, ignoring the look of hurt flash across Merlin’s face.

“Then you leave me no choice.” He said in response, hauling Arthur up by his arms. Ábilgest chirped in delight, earning a glare from Arthur because this wasn’t _funny._

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Arthur cried in despair, huffing as Merlin cast him into the arms of the dancing druids.

“Dance!” Merlin called out to him, laughing at the lost, confounded expression on his face.

“Looks like Arthur’s getting the hang of it…” Gwaine jaunted, grinning at Ábilgest. Then he raised his eyebrows, gazing over at Lancelot and Gwenevere, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

“…Lance too.”

Arthur hauled Merlin back into the dance by his jacket. The pair of them were at ease with each other, smiling freely. Merlin practically turned the colour of a tomato when the dance finished and they both discovered moments later that their hands were still intertwined.

**♦☼♦**

“I _know_ that look!” Morgana gasped, dragging Arthur back towards her when he tried to creep around her unnoticed.

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur sighed, not really in the mood for her personal attacks on him.

“What look?” he growled.

“Deer caught in the headlights, dazed, a little bit,” Morgana pulled a comical face. “flummoxed-

Arthur indignantly distorted his face at her impression of him.

“-I didn’t pull _that_ face-“

“-It’s Merlin isn’t it?” she taunted with glee, not allowing him to make excuses for his behaviour.

Arthur choked on the laughter escaping his throat. Coughing violently, eyes wide, he shot his sister an incredulous look. _Merlin?_ What on _earth?_

“Don’t be _ridiculous_ Morgana!” he spat, releasing himself from her grip to carry on walking. He had a _very_ important meeting with his father after all.

“It’s okay to talk about your feelings Arthur-”

“-F-feelings wh- _what_ feelings?!!” he spoke rapidly, annoyance apparent, coherence less apparent. “The only… _feelings,”_ he made a bizarre hand gesture. _“_ I have for that… _druid_ is annoyance, impatience, anger, sometimes he makes me _so angry_ with his constant babbling, and oh _yes_ irritating and exasperated and –“ he stopped midsentence, spotting the mischievous look crawl over her face. “-God dammit what is it now?”

Raising her eyebrows, Morgana folded her arms across her chest, acting as if she were giving a diagnosis.

“Hmmm…that’s an awful lot of feelings Arthur.” She cooed. Arthur’s eyes widened, shock quickly replaced by irritation. Her teeth were revealed in a flashy grin as Arthur began to walk away from her gruffly.

“ _Where are you going?”_ Morgana called, laughter laced in her tone.

“I don’t have time for this.” He grunted back non-committedly, not bothering to cast a look back in her direction.

**♦☼♦**

“What’s this?” Merlin asked, gazing curiously at the wooden object Arthur had put into his hands.

Staring incredulously at Merlin, Arthur scoffed. Was he _really_ that blind? Wasn’t it _obvious_ what it was?

“A _dragon._ ” He replied.

Smiling, Merlin ran his fingers over the smooth groves, the delicate features of the wooden model in his hands. It had dainty wings, a majestic body and large, mysterious eyes. Gazing over to the blonde, he held the dragon in the air.

“I haven’t taught you an incantation for carving yet.” He mused curiously.

“Not _all_ things require magic Merlin.” Arthur supplied, holding out the palms of his hands which revealed small cuts and splinters.

Placing the dragon down, Merlin reached for the bruised and worn palms in concern. He narrowed his eyes at the sight. Without hesitation, words left his lips, and a tingling sensation spread over Arthur’s hands. In seconds, the splinters and cuts were gone, replaced by fresh skin. Eyes wide, Arthur pressed his fingers across his palms, sceptical for a moment that magic really _could_ do that. Releasing Arthur’s hands, Merlin picked up the dragon. For reasons he didn’t understand, Arthur felt embarrassed, _silly_ even and dived for the gift.

“You don’t _have_ to keep it, I just…I-I w-”

Merlin pushed Arthur’s hands away lightly, holding the dragon out of his reach. Smiling fondly, he met the man’s eyes.

“Thank you Arthur.” With that he left, leaving Arthur alone in the edge of the forest.

Or so he thought.

“You’re playing a dangerous game Arthur.”

Turning around, Arthur frowned as he met the unusually concerned glance of Gwaine. For a moment, he detected something in those brown eyes revealing that he _knew_ something…something that Arthur Pendragon hadn’t told anybody. Swallowing-hard, praying the admission that his was true hadn’t resonated in his eyes, Arthur spun on his heel, walking away from the man.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grumbled, heart racing, hands a little clammy.

Gwaine laughed bitterly behind him, outstretching his arms dejectedly.

“ _Uther,”_ he called out, freezing Arthur in his tracks. Clamping his eyes shut, Arthur listened to the sound of Gwaine pacing closer towards him. “He sent you here for a reason.” Pause.

Breath hitching in his throat, Arthur attempted to steady his breaking composure. How had _Gwaine_ figured it out? If _he_ had….were others on his trail too? Then this anxiety morphed into blind panic, panic because Arthur had _forgotten_ all about his dirty little secret recently, completely indulging himself in Ealdor, and Merlin’s company. It was too late to respond to Gwaine, the silence had stretched out long enough to unveil what he couldn’t say. Gwaine took two more steps forwards.

“He’s asked you to spy on them, hasn’t he?”

Opening his eyes, Arthur fiercely met the judgemental eyes and that scowl.

“I have _no choice-_ ”

Anger flashed through Gwaine’s eyes. Reaching out forcefully, he grabbed Arthur’s shirt, pulling him forwards viciously.

“-This would _destroy_ Merlin if he found out.” He spat, and yes _of course_ Arthur knew that.  A pang of… _jealousy_ of all things boiled beneath his blood. To say that Gwaine and Merlin were close would be an understatement. “He _cares_ about you-”

“-And I care about him.” Arthur snapped, releasing himself from Gwaine’s grip.

Snorting, the rugged man skewed his expression to one of amused bewilderment.

“You have a funny way of showing it. But then again, you always have.”

Throwing his head back in exasperation, Arthur sighed audibly.

“I’m not _technically_ doing anything wrong here Gwaine.” Lie. Blatant lie.

Instead of an immediate response, Gwaine grimaced. He met his friend’s eyes solemnly. He’d known Arthur Pendragon for a long time, watched him change over the years from a hardworking -but _fun-_ guy to a severe, counterfeit version of himself. He’d never thought he would get his Arthur back, the one _everybody loved._ However, being in Ealdor, Gwaine had noticed the changes occurring. The exterior around Arthur was cracking away, revealing the true man inside. He was smiling more, _laughing_ more. And it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out _why._ Even if he wouldn’t admit it yet, because he was a stubborn arse, Gwaine was sure Arthur secretly had discovered it. But to think all this time, he was hiding a dark secret imposed by his father, one that would undoubtedly break Arthur _himself_ in due course….it just counteracted everything going on here. Sighing, Gwaine placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“They won’t move Arthur. You know this.”

Lowering his gaze dejectedly, Arthur attempted to feign composure. Yes. It had become more and more obvious how _special_ Ealdor was, how crucial the Crystal Cave was to the druids. Of course they wouldn’t move. This was _their home._ Arthur was slowly beginning to understand the deep connection the druids had to their world, to this land. How on earth he was going to tell his father this, he was unsure. He’d thought about playing along with this _dangerous game._ Maybe he could bluff his way through….giving away nothing to his father. At least until his six months were over? That would give him time to prepare, time to act upon all of this. Or maybe he should tell his father now, tell him that they wouldn’t move and that this was clearly a _stupid, ridiculous_ plan.

Yeah, like that would work.

“…Are you going to tell Merlin?” he asked slowly, lifting his head.

“No.” Gwaine replied, surprising Arthur. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur studied his friend’s stern expression. “It’s not my secret to tell. You have to be the one to tell him.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a pretty busy schedule coming up, so I thought I'd update again before there's a week of no updates!

The orange sun was still rising over Ealdor, giving the Crystals wavering outside the cave a hypnotic golden shimmer when Arthur reluctantly opened his eyes. As Merlin had offered up his bed up the past few nights, he had rather _nobly_ agreed to sleep outside in the company of the earth. He recalled the blatant surprise smeared over Merlin’s face, how his eyes had widened, cheeks flushed. Slowly, he got onto his feet, ruffling a hand through his dishevelled blonde hair. It was _definitely_ a lazy morning; mutual disagreement to rise for the approaching dawn had spread across the druid clan, possibly even all of Albion.

To Arthur’s astonishment, Merlin – the earliest riser of _all_ the druids – was still asleep. A smile framed Arthur’s mouth. It must have been challenging chaperoning Arthur, teaching him the ways of the druids _and_ completing his responsibilities for the clan. Arthur liked to think he’d made great progress in Merlin’s lessons. He was unsure whether to ask, Merlin was either cryptically silent or severely amused in their lessons.

Barely a handful of souls had left the world of dreams. A few of the children wandered around the outskirts of the settlement, mystically quiet as if they were still dozing. Even the trees awoke languidly, timidly stretching their arms to the wind’s hushed yawn. The forest around, Arthur noted as he began to walk, was cryptically silent, secrets nested away and trapped in an enchanted slumber.

Enchanted, just the word and its connotations sent an unpleasant shiver up and down his spine, leaving an unfamiliar but _pleasant_ twinge in his skin. Magic. It hadn’t exactly been _easy_ discovering that _he_ could conjure spells. Merlin had acted as if it were normal. Yet Gwen, who was also from his world, was not capable of magic. He pretended this didn’t concern him, but it did. Part of him wanted to trust Merlin’s carefree, soothing words, his reassurance that it was not _Arthur’s_ decision to learn magic, that magic had welcomed him into _its heart_. It was a magical land after all, perhaps Merlin _was_ right. Arthur hardly understood magic, despite spending every hour of the day in Ealdor. It was…ironically – _magical._ The more he had learnt from Merlin, the more spells he’d acquired, he was more attune to a newfound tingling sensation in his body and the content humming inside that warmed his chest.

Then there was the _voice in his head._ The woman.

He’d tried to ignore it all the months he’d spent in Albion. For the first few _weeks_ of his time in Albion, the whispering saccharine voice had echoed in his mind. At first he believed it to be nothing more of a hallucination, or a consequence of extreme fatigue. However, the voice had not subsided. In fact, the longer he spent here in Albion, the _realer_ it felt, the closer the voice felt. Each time the smooth voice sounded, he found he could construct more of a picture in his mind of the woman, especially last night. Throughout the night, he had glimpsed a woman in the background of his dreams – faint and blurry, never coming into focus or into the limelight. But this figure appeared with the voice. Arthur knew this could be no coincidence. The thought unsettled him, stirred him awake several times.

Why did her voice bring him such overwhelming poignancy like a thousand daggers piercing his skin, and then become a refreshing caress full of hope and unceasing joy? That wasn’t the _important_ question though. The real question was who-

-He quickly brushed aside the thoughts the moment he landed in Camelot Base. Frowning, Arthur strode through the bleak, empty bay. It was a big moment for him. Gwaine’s words had sparked worry and panic through his mind. He had decided to tell his father that _enough was enough._ The mission was off. He couldn’t afford to jeopardise the friendship and trust he’d built with these people- yes _people._ See. That was the thing he had realised. The druids weren’t outcasts or savages; they were _people –_ people with a far more amiable and peaceful culture than his own that was for sure. During the past few months he had learnt the ways of the druids _._ He had come to respect it, respect Merlin and the others. He was beginning to understand their perspective. In doing so, he had realised his father was wrong. Therefore he had no choice but to tell him, the _boss,_ his father.

The secret agenda had to be terminated at whatever cost.

He pretended to ignore the anxiety building up in his skin. What would his _father_ say if he discovered Arthur had been using _magic_? Maybe he wouldn’t say anything, he could be automatically disowned or disinherited. What would he say to Arthur’s proposal? He could hardly waltz in and say ‘Hey Dad! The past few months I’ve been learning magic, and I’ve decided we should just ditch the whole thing’. No. This required a much more calculated, cunning approach. Swallowing-hard, he strode through the bland corridors, already littered with people up bright and early for another day of hard work. As he reached his father’s office, he half-expected to be greeted by Morgause and told to come back later. It was ridiculously early.

However, to his surprise, as he opened the door he spotted his father sitting by the wooden desk. Before his father could speak, Arthur seized the blind rush of courage streaming through his veins.

“Father, they won’t move.” He said firmly, lifting his head boldly to assert authority. “I’m sure of it.”

Uther Pendragon gazed up form his paperwork, expression stern and cold. It was really pathetic how one menacing look from his father had the power to break an alarming amount of his resolve. Studying his son, clearly unimpressed with his messy appearance and simple attire, Uther frowned. Then, he set his attention back to the documents on the table.

“You know what will happen if they don’t move Arthur,” he said absently, and for a moment it sounded as if Uther was talking about what to have for dinner as opposed to _people’s lives._ A little disgusted at his blasé tone, Arthur narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“You have three more months….I don’t want to have to open fire on the druids.” Sighing, Uther put down his pen, casting his son a glance. “It looks bad on the company and the human race-”

The words were enough to spark the rage boiling inside Arthur. How _dare_ his father cheapen the value or their homes, their _lives_ -

“-They’re human too you know.” He spat maliciously, eyes dangerously blazing with a burnishing fire; the flames of justice and righteousness danced between his irises. Voice level and _just_ as firm as his father’s, Arthur continued.

“They are just as human as you, and I.”

Blinking, Uther slowly stood from his seat. He took a few steps towards Arthur, scrutinising his complexion and face meticulously.

“They have indoctrinated you with their magical ideologies.” He stated, and Arthur could _hear_ the accusation before it had even been spoken.

“No they haven’t. I’m merely seeing _sense._ ” Arthur replied fiercely, receiving a confused and angered look from his father.

“Magic is _evil_ and those who practice it-“

“-Those who practice magic are no different to us.” Arthur interjected, jabbing a finger towards his father. “We should evaluate _how_ a druid uses their magic, never just that they _do_ use it.”

Raising his eyebrows, Uther scoffed. The dismissal, the _refusal_ to even _listen_ to a different point of view infuriated Arthur. Clenching his fists, he inhaled a deep breath to try and compose himself.

“And who told you such nonsense?”

“Merlin.” Arthur retorted with equal bitterness dripping from his voice., unaware of how his father’s eyes flashed with _something_ foreign. “I believe him-“

“-Do I need to reassign you elsewhere?”

The notion of being _removed_ from Ealdor genuinely terrified Arthur. Even more so did the thought of his father sending someone ruthless and heartless like _Valiant_ in exchange of his place to ensure the job was done. Merlin wouldn’t stand a chance against a brute like him. Sure he had magic, but Valiant was _strong_ and forceful. He would do whatever necessary to ensure the druid’s moved. He’d never see his friends again, never see _Merlin._ They wouldn’t be safe- not that they were safe _now,_ but they were far safer under Arthur Pendragon’s watch than they’d ever be.

“-NO!”

Eyes wide, Arthur reached out to his father urgently, gripping him by the shoulder. He prayed this frenzy was interpreted as the desire to complete the mission and please his father as opposed to the fear of losing new friends.

“Father.” He cleared his throat to avoid letting too much emotion seep through, releasing his father’s arm abruptly. “I assure you, that won’t be necessary.”

For a moment there was excruciating silence, it hovered around the room. Uther turned his back on Arthur, sitting back down on his chair. Arthur hadn’t established that his whole body was shaking, his heart racing until his father had begun reading over the documents again. This sudden panic that he _could_ very well be _reassigned,_ and lose all chance of saving Ealdor and the clan was overpowering. Gritting his teeth in anticipation, Arthur shut his eyes from a moment. The air was thick, crammed with tension. _Finally,_ his father spoke from the chair.

“Three months left Arthur,” he mused, not looking up from his papers. “Get them out.”

**♦☼♦**

“Arthur,” the firm grim clasped his arm, tugging him violently into one of the small alcoves of the building. Meeting those determined eyes, Arthur frowned and released his arm. Patiently he waited for her words, knowing they would be laced in trouble and anxiety. “I think I’m onto something,” Morgana hissed, voice low as if she feared being heard.

“I’ve been closely monitoring the ammunition-”

“-As you should it’s your department.” Arthur bluntly stated, still unmoved and apathetic due to the meeting with his father. He now comprehended Morgana’s rage to the way Camelot spoke of druid’s. His father’s comments were _outrageous,_ and completely discriminative. The raven-haired woman scowled at him, hoisting a blue folder in her hands into his vision. Opening it carefully, pulling on her chunky black glasses, she frowned as her fingers skimmed over a page.

“Valiant has secretly been ordering more stock than we need, _far_ more. It’s, it’s _tenfold_ to the quota we were given.”

Arthur didn’t even bother looking at the paper full of numbers in her hands. He rolled his eyes, prepared to walk away. This news was _highly_ disturbing, and with everything slowly coming into motion, all Arthur wanted to do was leave this wretched place and indulge selfishly in the peaceful world of Ealdor.

“So he’s not good with numbers, doesn’t surprise me-”

Gritting her teeth, Morgana pulled him back fiercely, expression hardening; a constant reminder that she was one person you simply should not meddle with. She was highly unimpressed with his sarcastic comment.

“We’re not talking about _guns_ and puny weapons. We’re talking about _missiles,_ grenades…”

She thrust the paper into his hands, drinking in the alarmed look on his face as he read over the figures. _Shit._ Morgana was right. The weapons listed herewere hardly the ones requested for protection in the Albion forests, or to keep the Base secure. These weapons were dangerous, hazardous and demonstrated the dark power of humanity. Swallowing-hard, he met Morgana’s eyes over the paper. Returning the troubled gaze, she continued.

“…these figures, the very weapons _themselves –_ Arthur!” she exclaimed. “It suggests that we’re about to go to war.”

Abruptly, Arthur changed persona, changed _character_ almost. The anxious cloud around him morphed into blithe ignorance. His eyes lost their light, his body slumped. If anyone had observed him at this time, they would have assumed he simply didn’t care about these implications. However, deep inside Arthur was panicking. He was _scared,_ terrified at the knowledge that Camelot Enterprise were harbouring these weapons in Albion. It intertwined all too well with his father’s words, and with the secret agenda. He pushed the paper back into Morgana’s hands, heading back onto the corridor silently. He could hear her following in desperation.

“This isn’t something you can just _walk away_ from!” she cried, catching up to him swiftly. He ignored her words. He _wanted_ to walk away from this, he _wished_ he could run back to Ealdor and magic this whole thing away forever.

“Something Clandestine is going one here. We’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”

But Arthur already knew what was at the bottom of this cover-up: himself, his father and the secret agenda.  Smiling sadly at this notion, Arthur raked a hand through his hair and pulled out the teleporting device from his pocket. Noticing the device, and the fact that Arthur was _refusing_ to respond in any way, Morgana glowered. Leaning towards him, she poked his chest angrily.

“Don’t you _care_ about the welfare of the Druids?”

“Of course I do Morgana.” He snapped back automatically, so rapid that it almost aroused suspicion within the woman. Arthur continued quickly, covering his tracks.

“But we’re not here to make friends and _learn magic tricks._ ” But here _he_ was, making friends and learning magic- if morgana only knew _how much_ of a fucking hypocritical twat he sounded right now….Sighing laboriously,  Arthur cast her a neutral look.

“We’re here to mine.” The teleporting device began to flash, indicating it had charged enough to be used. “Destiny Calls.” He gazed down at the small device.

“You’re leaving again?” Morgana asked beside him, her anger and fury evapourated from the scene. She was too stunned to fully acknowledge the word ‘destiny’ and mock him for it.

“I’ll be back Morgana, I promise.” He replied, pressing down the teleport button. The last thing he heard sprout from her lips evoked a rare, raw smile and a pang of guilt.

“You _better_ be! I can’t stand working with a giant, boorish pig.”

**♦☼♦**

Arthur was surprised that when he arrived back in Ealdor, Merlin was no-where to be found. He assumed the druid had duties to attend to as future leader of the clan. Perhaps he was speaking with his father; Merlin tended to do that a lot. The rules and conditions of Arthur’s stay had relaxed heavily since his lessons with Merlin. A vast majority of the people seemed to accept him and his friends with ease now. Walking through the bustling area, full of druids beginning their daily activities, Arthur felt a smile touch his lips. One of the druid children bashfully manoeuvred around him, eyes never leaving his face. Offering the child a smile, Arthur watched as she abruptly sped off towards Gwenevere. The woman caught the child in her arms, laughing softly. Her eyes met Arthur’s across the clearing. Then she turned to Lancelot who was standing beside her. Arthur watched the pair talking knowingly shooting his friend an amused grin. It wasn’t hard to notice the sparks flying between _those two._

Arthur stood hesitantly in front of the entrance to a small alcove in one of the large trees. Dangling over the hollow were hand-made delicate beaded drapes, clearly to give the area privacy. He stepped through the drapes, leading him into the dimly lit area. The woman sitting on the floor looked up at him, a surprised smile on her face. Averting his eyes, Arthur cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry to bother you my lady,” he bowed courteously.

Reaching out her hands, Hunith responded in her soft, assuring voice.

“Come take a seat.”

Obediently, Arthur sat opposite her. He studied her warm face, meeting her eyes for a moment. Part of him was beginning to regret coming here to talk to Merlin’s mother. However, another part of him was bursting with anxiety, just wanting to talk to _someone_ who wouldn’t be subjective towards his words. Titling her head, Hunith frowned.

“What is troubling you Arthur?”

Her voice was so reassuring, so mellow that Arthur would have spilt all of his secrets there and then if it weren’t for the small resolve still wavering inside of him. Sighing, he tried to form his words. Yes, Merlin had spoken to him about this before. But still, he _felt_ something was not right here.

“I am able to practice magic.” He stated, lowering his gaze. “Yet nobody else from my world seems to.”

“In normal circumstances, one who doesn’t have magic in their blood does not have the ability to perform magic.” She replied rather vaguely.

“Then _why_ is it that I can learn spells?” Arthur urgently asked, desperate for a precise answer.

Leaning over to hold one of his hands, she smiled gently. Instantly her actions soothed the building annoyance and fear inside of him. It all melted away into a void. No wonder Hunith was asked for so frequently by the druids- she really did have a special ability of compassion towards others, effortlessly consoling those who came for help or counsel.

“You are not a normal circumstance Arthur Pendragon.” She said, her smile bearing less kindness and more confusion. “You were _destined_ for greatness, as is Merlin. You’re like two sides of the same coin.”

Two sides of the same coin.

If anybody other than Hunith had told him this, Arthur was sure he would have burst into laughter, mocking them instantly. Instead, these words spread through his body bringing with it curiosity and greater confusion than before. The druids did enjoy speaking in riddles. The atmosphere was so calm, so collected that Arthur felt this was the perfect opportunity to tell _someone_ of the voice at night. Perhaps gaining another perspective would put his mind to rest. Drawing his eyebrows together, Arthur released her hand.

“I hear a voice at night, a woman’s voice. She calls my name. Last night I saw her but only in the distance of my mind. It’s like she’s…she’s trying to tell me something.” Absurd as he thought this sounded, Hunith’s startled and anxious expression suggested that this voice was more than a hallucination. She leant towards him.

“Have you told anybody about this?”

Shaking his head, Arthur grimaced.

“No. I just thought they were dreams.”

Raising her eyebrows at his words, she nodded in understanding. For a moment, both of them remained silent. Then, Hunith sighed in a fashion rather unlike her usual character, and spoke.

“You are in a sacred land Arthur Pendragon. The very ground on which we sit upon is full of magic and the thoughts of our ancestors.”

Processing her words slowly, Arthur narrowed his eyes. Was she implying that his woman was somehow part of his past? Part of _him?_

“I…It feels like someone I know, or once knew a long time ago.” He admitted, unable to describe the strange emotions that surfaced each time the woman had spoken in his mind. Hunith offered him a knowing smile.

“-Then Arthur-”

The drapes rustled violently and a figure traipsed in dramatically.

“-Mother I have _had_ it up to _here_ with William at the moment!” Merlin exclaimed, flailing his arms about in exasperation, clearly infuriated. “He’s gone _chasing_ after a Wildren beast again. As _usual,_ I’m going to have to be the one to get him and whoever he’s dragged along out of trou-” stopping abruptly mid-sentence, Merlin averted is gaze to the man sitting opposite his mother. Arthur seemed partly amused, partly distressed by Merlin’s sudden entrance. Sheepishly, Merlin lowered his arms from their dramatic pose, studying the man curiously.

“Arthur? What are you doing here?” he cast a look between his mother and Arthur suspiciously.

“I. _I…”_ panic flared through Arthur. He couldn’t exactly tell Merlin he’d come to seek his mother’s help because he could do magic and was hearing voices in his head. This was a private, delicate matter, one he wasn’t prepared to share with anybody yet. “I…E-H-”

“-I wished to speak with him.” Hunith finished bluntly with confidence, and Arthur was unsure if he imagined the wink or not in his direction.

Gazing over to Arthur, who was unable to meet his eyes, Merlin frowned.

“What for?” he asked. It was unusual for his mother to request people; usually they requested her presence for guidance or help.

“It doesn’t concern you Merlin.” She said distantly, voice beginning to lack its usual steadiness.

Taking the hint, Merlin studied Arthur. His mother was lying, he knew that much. Whatever _this_ was about, Arthur wasn’t ready to share it yet. The least he could do was respect his wishes and not mention this. Shrugging, Merlin felt the tension in the air clear as he changed the subject.

“Okay. Well I’m going to go and find where Will’s led his poor followers off to.” He retreated to the doorway, then turned around instinctively.

“Coming?”

Without hesitation, Arthur leapt to his feet, heart racing at the prospect of a new adventure. The pair of them shared a grin, and Arthur nodded. Perhaps gallivanting around the forest with Merlin would take his mind of his troubles. Merlin usually seemed to be the only thing able to ease his worry, allow him to live without constraints. As the left the small room, neither of them noticed Hunith’s inquisitive smile, or the way her eyes flickered with something the pair of them were unable to detect. If they had been less engaged with each other, and more attuned to their surroundings, perhaps they would have heard her quiet, hopeful mumblings.

“Two sides…Once and Future….Destiny.”


	22. Chapter 22

Arthur was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the part of the forest Merlin had led them to. The trees were much smaller, enclosed by the majestic giants that conquered the horizon. Moss covered almost _everything._ The rocks were green; the trees were green; the river was green. For a second, Arthur had to stop and try to adjust his focus because his eyes had started to merge everything together into one mesh of giant green. Blinking in confusion, he turned to Merlin in the dingy, dull light and frowned. Why on earth were they here? This hardly screamed adventure; in fact it didn’t scream anything other than _boring_ and _horrible._ It was apparent that Merlin was displeased with the area also. He crinkled his nose a little at the smell overcoming his senses. Meeting Arthur’s eyes, Merlin mirrored the blonde’s expression.

“We’re getting close to the caves now.” Arthur didn’t like his tone one bit, it was bordering apprehension.

“I’m guessing that’s where the Wildren are?” he asked, groaning as he gazed down to discover he had stepped into a dark sludge.

Merlin put his urgency on hold for a moment, grinning in amusement at Arthur’s shoes. When Arthur glanced up, he had _just_ missed this amusement. Now Merlin was bearing a stern expression, gesturing for them to continue forwards through the web of tangled tree branches. It looked ominous, to say the least. The tree branches had almost been trampled into place with much effort, creating a coiling, twisting mechanism ahead that seemed impossible to break through. Merlin went first, ducking under the branch above his head, crouching in an awkward position.

“Why are they like this?” Arthur enquired curiously, following the druid cautiously.

Unable to turn his head back due to the restricted space, Merlin manoeuvred his way through two more coils, body twisting flexibly. Arthur heard his voice once the initial shock of Merlin’s dexterity had worn off.

“The druids made them like this.”

Pushing through the branches was futile, they were too thick to move or use force on. Climbing and weaving between them was the only way. With a sigh, Arthur curled his back, squeezing through two of the branches in his way. Merlin was metres ahead already. For a reason he couldn’t understand, he felt a little unnerved to raise his voice and shout. Instead he focused his mind on the druid, interlacing through another set of branches with less ease.

_But why?_

Merlin halted ahead, clearly hearing Arthur’s words in his head. By the time Merlin replied, Arthur was close enough to talk to him. But now they had started this exchange through the mind, it may as well be finished through the mind. Merlin had told him it was very dangerous to leave a conversation in the mind unfinished, because in the few seconds where nobody replied and conversation dwindled, someone who knew how to could _easily_ access your mind and steal your secrets, thoughts, _memories._ He had called these people Swígan, and to Arthur’s relief he had _also_ said the Swígan were rare and normally resided in the Southern Mountains. Despite this, it was a truism that some hovered in solitude in the forests of Albion, seeking out people and using their secrets against them in cruel bargains.

_To stop people going in._

Confused, Arthur narrowed his eyes. To stop people going… _in?_ But if the Wildren lived there then surely it would make more sense to build it to stop them going _out?_ He didn’t realise his thought had matured into one Merlin could hear until he go a response from the druid.

_The Wildren don’t leave the caves, they have no need to. Everything they require is in the caves. Some druids are stupid enough to venture into the caves and cause mischief._

Some druids like _Will,_ and well…Merlin too. He’d had his fair share of Wildren adventures in his youth with Will. The pair of them were unstoppable, total troublemakers back when freckles dusted both of their faces, back when they had teeth missing and they were _both_ still shorter than Hunith. As they _finally_ reached the end of the branch coils, Arthur noticed the small smile on Merlin’s face. It seemed almost nostalgic. He thought better than to ask Merlin what it signified, they weren’t the best of friends after all. Then he cast his eyes to the sight before them. Embedded in the large rocks was the mouth of a cave. It looked far less appealing and beautiful than the Crystal Cave, mainly because it was just an ordinary cave. Instead of crystals and a magical shimmer, the cave was dark and eerie.

Merlin was the first to venture inside, gesturing for Arthur to follow him. They were both met by darkness; it kissed each of their cheeks welcomingly before totally consuming them. And for a moment Arthur became completely terrified at the notion of losing Merlin’s whereabouts and getting lost in this cave forever. Swiftly, the druid – assumingly beside him – uttered some words. They resonated through the cave, and a delicate blue orb of light hovered. Arthur established that Merlin was much further than he had anticipated, walking towards him briskly, hoping his anxiety wasn’t _too_ exposed. Merlin raised an eyebrow at him coyly, implying he had noticed it. However, there was ambiguity in his expression, causing Arthur great discomfort and annoyance. With a frown, Arthur studied the cave system ahead. It was divided into two tunnels, both leading into darkness. Arthur was _certain_ the likelihood of getting lost in one of these tunnels was alarmingly high.

“Well which way do we go?” he asked Merlin, unaware that his mutterings were unnerving the druid beside him.

“I…I don’t know.” Merlin eventually admitted with a labored sigh.

Logically, Arthur gazed between himself and Merlin, stating the obvious solution without really thinking about the consequences.

“Why don’t _you_ go one way, I go the other?”

At this, Merlin bit his lip to avoid laughter spewing from his mouth. He shot the blonde an imbecilic look. Had he not learnt _anything_ in his lessons with Merlin? Surely by now he had understood that segregation in circumstances like this was the _worst possible thing_ you could suggest?! Decrypting the code in Merlin’s eyes, slightly enamored by the blue glow his skin held due to the orb, Arthur smiled sheepishly. Yes, that was a rather stupid thought. But at least he was _thinking_ of a solution. Although, to be perfectly honest, Arthur couldn’t think of anything _better_ than leaving William stranded in a Wildren Cave forever. He wasn’t exactly a _pleasant_ man, and he’d never liked Arthur anyway. A new look of hostility danced in Merlin’s irises, revealing Arthur had been _too open_ with his thoughts and Merlin had effortlessly climbed in and heard the comment. Shrugging, because Arthur couldn’t exactly apologise when he’s blatantly far from sorry, the blonde feigned innocence.

It was at this moment that both were drawn to a very _human sound._ Words, a conversation resonated through the left tunnel, rumbling gently into their ears. One voice was inevitably Will, Merlin rolled his eyes, less fearful and more agitated than before. Of _course_ Will was going to speak _obnoxiously loud_ and lure attention towards himself. That’s what he did. He _wanted_ the Wildren’s to find him... _them._ The second voice didn’t surprise either of them. _Gwaine._ Merlin and Arthur exchanged fond and exasperated glances, both despairing for their friends who had never quite grown out of the phase of mischief. Promptly they strode down the tunnel, the darkness slowly morphed into an ember glow the deeper they went. The light of Merlin’s orb dimmed dramatically. He couldn’t believe _this!_ Will was prancing around the Wildren tunnels with flame torches.

He spared a look at Arthur, reminded of how there once was a time many months ago where Arthur had demonstrated the same behaviour. He had been walking around the forest like a _baby_ oblivious to the dangers, displaying himself in neon to all the predators. Only that time, Arthur’s actions weren’t _deliberate._ Will and Gwaine were just being idiots, intentionally too. Arthur seemed to almost understand the thought process running through Merlin’s mind and smiled back at him. His smile faded when they realised they were _much_ closer to the flames than anticipated, and as they walked round the curve of the tunnel they were graced by Gwaine and Will’s presence. Will _groaned_ in annoyance, Gwaine grinned and strode towards the pair.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed, hauling the druid into his arms.

Arthur winced a little at the disregard for his presence by both Will and Gwaine. It were as if he was _invisible_ to both of them. But then again, that’s what happened when Merlin was around. For reasons Arthur didn’t understand, the people revered Merlin, and naturally anyone else around him faded into the background helplessly. Not that Arthur would ever tell Merlin this, he was sure it would deeply upset him to discover his mere _presence_ made certain individuals nothing more than lingering ghosts.

“Will was showing me where the so-called Wildren lived, he’s not such a _boring_ ass after all!” Will shot Gwaine a scowl, Merlin gazed openly at Will, not failing to allow the bitterness to distort his sweet complexion.

Arthur was glad _he_ wasn’t at the receiving end of this look.

Merlin held his gaze sternly. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what Will’s _real intentions_ were. He was jealous, overwhelmingly jealous that Merlin was now spending every hour or his life with Arthur Pendragon. Sure, at first that hadn’t been out of choice, but somehow now it _was._ Naturally, instead of _talking_ about it like a normal person, Will had decided that getting a _new best friend_ was the better option. He was trying to use Gwaine against Merlin _and_ Arthur. Why? Well it was obvious. He was hoping Merlin would be jealous that Gwaine had taken his place, overriding memories of their past. And he hoped that Arthur would be jealous that Gwaine had earnt the trust of the _one_ person Arthur simply couldn’t. This would no doubt lead to _guilt_ on Arthur’s part, because surely if he _did_ have Will’s trust, the friendship he had with Merlin wouldn’t be completely sabotaged.

Merlin wasn’t going to let Will’s plan escalate _that far._ Will had forgotten _one thing –_ he knew him better than anyone.

“It’s not safe you have to go back.” Merlin said challengingly.

Both Gwaine and Arthur turned their attention to the scene unfolding between Will and Merlin.

“You used to be the instigator, now you’re all _boring!”_ Will replied, pointing the flame towards him in an accusatory manner. The druid grimaced. “Have some fun.”

“This is not _fun,”_ Merlin snapped. “This is stupid. You can’t just lead people out into the tunnels.”

“You’re not the leader of the clan yet Merlin.” The stubborn man retorted grumpily, making haste to walk further into the tunnels. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“What’s this about Will?” Merlin asked darkly, causing Will to stop walking. The blue orb hovering around him faded into oblivion – he’d focused all his attention onto his childhood friend. “ _Really._ I know you-”

“-It’s about him.” Arthur flinched. So he wasn’t _entirely_ invisible. It was more like conveniently ignored. “I don’t trust him.”

If Arthur had noted all the times he’d heard Will say something along the lines of that…well he’d sure he’d have filled up a whole notebook by now. Gwaine shuffled uncomfortably besides Arthur. It wasn’t one of these situation where they could just walk off and pretend they had things to do. They were in the middle of a deep cave, full of Wildren. Arthur assumed that they should probably continue this discussion outside, _away_ from danger. He was about to speak up when he heard Merlin valiantly defend him.

“ _I_ trust him.” Blinking in surprise, Arthur studied Merlin curiously. An unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest, and he slowly closed his gaping mouth.

Trust, or friendship or _feelings_ was something admittedly the pair never talked about. Arthur was uncertain whether their… _whatever_ it was, was just a façade Merlin put on in order to stay strong for the people. He felt his lips twinge. Merlin _trusted him._ Trust.

“He’s Uther Pendragon’s son, he’s going to get us all killed.” Will yelled, voice echoing through the tunnel.

Gwaine and Arthur exchanged troubled glances at these words, and then Arthur deicded that enough was enough. Yes. He _was_ Uther’s son. His father _had_ given him a mission that would most likely end in death and destruction, but it didn’t matter. The more time he spent in Ealdor, the _less_ he thought about the stupid agenda. He wanted nothing more than to wipe Camelot Enterprise’s minds and send them back home. Apparently, memory spells were impossible though.

“What have I ever done to you?” It became evident fairly quickly that this was _totally_ the worst thing Arthur Pendragon could have possibly said in this moment.

Will glowered at him, raising his hand as if he were about to use magic. Merlin literally _growled_ in warning, creating a thick tension in the air. Lowering his hand, Will leant towards the blonde man menacingly.

“It’s not about what you’ve done. It’s about what you’re going to do, you and those stupid people who work for you!”

“Will that’s enough, we need to leave.” Merlin hissed, voice low and eyes searching the dark tunnel suspiciously.

This attempt at appeasement to get everybody _out alive_ fell flat on its face. In fact, it merely triggered further conflict. Glancing between Merlin and Arthur, Will _erupted._ His face was reddened, eyes furious.

“I can’t _believe_ you’re taking his side Merlin!” he shouted. “You should know better, you’re EMRYS you’re supposed to be an _example_ to us all-”

It took Arthur Pendragon a few seconds to process the powerful name that had been directed at Merlin. When he had he turned to Merlin in alarm, _shock,_ horror. Eyes wide he studied the druid beside him, with new eyes. Merlin wasn’t _just_ Merlin, future ruler of the Ealdor Clan. Merlin was-

“-Emrys?!-” He cried out, hands outstretched in disbelief.

Merlin was _Emrys,_ fucking EMRYS. He was the druid of legend, the one so mighty and great that there had been _scriptures_ written about him. He was revered, _feared_ by many. Emrys was the wizard of myth. Hell, there was a colossal _book_ devoted to him. To think that this grand deity was a big-eared, clumsy, stupid _idiot_ called Merlin. To think said big-eared, clumsy, stupid _idiot_ called Merlin had failed to mention this to Arthur, or Gwaine. Gwaine seemed as stunned as Arthur and far more impressed. He was grinning at Merlin, eyebrows raised. Merlin had taken no notice of their changed expressions in the few seconds that passed; he was in the middle of a verbal fight.

“Arthur has been _respectful_ enough to learn our ways, learn our traditions, and our way of life-”

“-It’s _all an act.”_ Will sighed dejectedly. “Can’t you see he’s got some sort of _ulterior motive?”_

Ulterior motive, Arthur swallowed-hard, eyes focused on the ground. Well, Will had hit the nail on the head. Merlin – _Emrys-_ was he supposed to call Merlin Emrys, or treat him differently? Confusion pelted Arthur in the face. Why would Merlin _neglect_ to tell him something of this caliber? Did he _really_ trust Arthur? How could he really trust Arthur?

“Arthur Pendragon is _different.”_ Merlin stated loyally.

“Pathetic,” Will barked sarcastically. “You’ll believe _anything_ he says. Yet you never say why.”

“I do not need to explain myself, I know he is pure of heart.” Merlin said, using a powerful, decisive tone Arthur couldn’t help but associate with _Emrys._ His voice whispered ‘I dare you to disagree with me on this.’ Will obviously _did_ disagree.

Suddenly, Gwaine raised a hand.

“Shhh!” he hissed, silencing the pair. “ _Listen.”_

The four of them focused their attention on the sounds of the cave. They had been too caught up in such _human_ things to notice that there were some _very_ inhuman things creeping into the corners of their ears too. For starters, there was rustling from all around the tunnel. It was difficult to say how far it was, or what direction it had come from. There was the sound of ragged breathing, and a growl. Reaching for his knife, Arthur took a step backwards. Instinctively, the four of them huddled closer together in pairs, back to back. Gwaine and Will looked down on end of the tunnel, Merlin and Arthur studied the other way.

Will’s torch began to paint a giant shadow over the walls, revealing that something was approaching.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Merlin whispered, slowly making his way forwards.

The others followed quietly, and the shadow in the flames abruptly vanished. The lack of sound bought them to a stop. It was so quiet, eerie. Arthur could hear his own shallow breaths harmonise with Gwaine’s, collide brutally with Will’s sharp intakes of air, and intertwine with Merlin’s soft gasp. That was _all_ he could hear, indicating that something was seriously wrong. Merlin stumbled forwards cautiously, hand outstretched meekly.

“Where is it?” Gwaine muttered curiously, gazing up to the high ceiling of the cave’s tunnel.

“Has it gone?” Arthur hissed hopefully, subconsciously clutching Merlin’s jacket tightly.

“No.” Merlin replied, ensuring that Will hadn’t run off or done something stupid. “It’s here somewhere.”

Will yelped loudly, pushing the three of them forwards as the flame in his hands fell the ground. It revealed parts of the creature’s face. The adrenaline rushing through Arthur’s brain made it difficult to fully piece together what he had seen in the first strike. Large teeth. Rat-like. Huge. _Horrible._ Simultaneously, the four of them turned the other way quickly, ready to run. The creature swiftly leapt in front of them, clawing at them viciously.

“Run!” Arthur yelled.

Immediately, the four of them darted forwards, or what they _thought_ was forwards. Will was about to pick up the flame torch on the ground, but Merlin tugged him forwards urgently as he ran past. Instead, it was _Arthur_ who conjured an unstable – yet efficient – light source. The ember ball hovered ahead of them, spraying light upon the ground so they could see. If it were any other time, he would have laughed in joy at _finally_ creating a self-sustaining orb that didn’t collapse in on itself. But now was not the time. Instead, he pushed forwards. The Wildren was agile, but it wasn’t _fast._ If they continued running, they would probably make their way to the exit of the cave safely.

Will lost his footing, falling to the ground.

Merlin and Gwaine didn’t see, running forwards. But Arthur did, and he knew that if he didn’t react _now_ the Wildren would definitely get the druid. Leaping back to the stubborn druid, Arthur hauled him up. In that moment Merlin heard Will’s voice _protesting_ and turned his head back, eyes full of horror. The Wildren was _right_ behind them! Spurts of violet light darted from his hand powerfully, hitting the Wildren in the face. Arthur took this gesture in his stride and pushed Will back onto his feet, dragging him back into the distance safe enough to be running. Merlin used one final spell before bounding after them; the Wildren seemed to lose interest the more they ran. It knew they were headed towards the outside.

They didn’t _stop_ running.

Just because _one_ Wildren had given up didn’t mean another would appear out of nowhere and block their only escape route. The moment they made it out of the cave, the four of them clung onto the coiled branches, panting for fresh air. Gwaine broke into a rugged laugh of relief, Arthur joined him. He could kind of see why Will thought this was fun. The Wildren’s definitely weren’t the deadliest things in Albion. Regaining his breathing, Will studied Arthur silently. Bewilderment was plastered over his face. Merlin just looked _proud,_ eyes unable to leave Arthur’s face. He had indeed acted valiantly today.

“You saved me.” Will said blankly. “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Arthur asked simply, only deepening the perplexity inside Will.

Averting his eyes, Will stumbled through the first coil of branches. Arthur scoffed, he’d half-expected a _thank you_ but should have known better. Will would _never_ thank him, for anything.

“This doesn’t change anything. I _still_ despise you and your kind.”

Gwaine frowned, watching Arthur’s crestfallen expression. Merlin exhaled audibly, making his way through the coiled branches. He’d had _enough_ of this behaviour. There was only _so far_ a person could be pushed to his limits.

“ _What_ is his problem?!?” the blonde called out angrily, following a subdued Merlin through the trees.

**♦☼♦**

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin’s eyes were focused ahead, lingering on the figure in the distance sadly. Arthur cast his own eyes towards the druid determinedly marching through the forests in front of him. He failed to understand how this _wasn’t_ his fault.

“Your name doesn’t determine who you are, what’s in your heart does. You have a strong heart, Arthur.”

“That’s _funny,”_ Merlin could hear the usual arrogance seeping through that voice. “I thought you said I had a _pure heart…._ Emrys.”

The atmosphere radically changed. Merlin didn’t jump to the bait as Arthur thought he would. Instead he was quiet for a moment, face flushed and fists clenched. He walked a little faster, clearly wanting to walk alone but knowing that running away would be too dramatic. Arthur matched his pace with ease, unused why the word ‘Emrys’ had caused such…unrest in Merlin.

“I didn’t want to tell you.” Merlin eventually said, slowing his erratic pace. “I was afraid you would treat me differently. Everyone else does.”

Treated _differently,_ because of your name…Arthur Pendragon could relate to that also. People back home treated him differently because of his name too, because of who he was _supposed_ to be. Part of him had been so fixated on ‘John Smith’ secretly because he _didn’t._ This was on a totally new level though. Merlin was _Emrys._ He was… _colossal._ Arthur’s mind flashed back to when they were in the Perilous lands. Arthur had _definitely_ mocked Merlin when he’d suggested he was Emrys. Oh, how stupid he felt now. Unable to stop the bubble of laughter, Arthur nudged the druid with his shoulder.

“So when you said you could obliterate me with one spell….you weren’t lying were you?”

Smirking, Merlin nudged the man back.

“Nope. Good thing we’re friends now.”

Friends… _friends?_ That was the first admission of _any_ kind of relationship between them. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur spoke automatically.

“I’d say mere acquaintances.”

He failed to notice the degree of upset tainting Merlin’s face. But he _did_ notice it, and instantly felt guilty. Of _course_ they were….friends? But Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with this, and…and usually panicked in situations like this. Morgana had always scorned him for pushing people away for casually. If she could hear him now, she would be furious. Arthur had to quickly salvage the situation.

“Hey,” he practically cooed, leaning far too close to Merlin. “If we’re _friends_ then you can’t call me names like dollophead, clotpole or Pratdragon. Where’s the fun in that?” he teased.

Merlin laughed at his words; Arthur _knew_ it was a forced laugh. It hurt him more than he could say.

“Okay,” Arthur ruffled a hand through his hair nervously. “I _suppose_ we could make an exception in this situation.”

Confused, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes. Arthur’s expression softened, sapphire eyes sparkling with something Merlin couldn’t quite grasp.

“You can _still_ call me dollophead, clotpole or Pratdragon.”

The words themselves were irrelevant, it was the message embedded beneath them. Merlin’s eyes lit up, a smile dusted his face.

“Prat.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a twist now.... enjoy.
> 
> (If you have the soundtrack I'm going for tracks 29, 30, 31! 31 for the last two scenes)

The moonlight was glistening over _Beorhtne_ , reflecting off the gentle ripples of water hypnotically. It truly was astonishing, drawing a gasp from Merlin each time he came here to think or have some time to himself. But tonight was different. Tonight another figure sat by the lake, knees drawn into their chest, eyes set on the horizon vacantly. Merlin didn’t take in the beauty of the evening. He slowly walked straight towards the figure, eyes solemn. He sat silently besides the figure, also gazing out across the lake. The man made no gesture to properly acknowledge Merlin. Instead, he remained in his pensive state, studying the way the wind’s caress created mesmerising patterns across the water. Chewing his lip agitatedly, Merlin hoisted his knees towards his chest. The pair remained silent for a few more moments, until Merlin was unable to maintain it. Eyes never leaving the horizon, Merlin began to address the figure beside him.

“Look Will, when I first met Arthur,” he paused to laugh warmly. “I was exactly the same,” his eyes twinkled with fondness, a trace of a smile dancing across the tips of his lips at the memory of their first meeting. “I hated him. I thought he was pompous and arrogant.”

“Nothing’s changed there then.” Will spat back derisively, also keeping his eyes set on the lake. Merlin flinched a little at the potency behind his tone. Nonetheless, he continued his endeavor to calm his friend’s outrage.

“ _But,”_ he said, tongue dwelling on the final consonant longer than necessary. There was an undercurrent of hope in his voice. “I’ve come to respect him, and what he stands for-”

These words seized Will forcefully, dragging his attention towards Merlin. Merlin could feel those angry eyes smouldering over his face.

“How can you say that?” Merlin averted his eyes to the ground for a second. “Everything _he_ stands for is oppression and injustice.”

Frowning, Merlin toyed with a rock by his feet contemplatively. Once upon a time, Merlin thought the very same thing. Arthur Pendragon was a _Pendragon,_ so naturally he had inherited _every single_ trait of his father’s. Naturally he was just as heartless and cruel. Or so he’d thought. The past few months had given Merlin an insight into the real Arthur. Arthur was _nothing_ like his father. Placing the rock down, he turned to Will.

“You cannot judge one man by the actions of his father.”

Narrowing his eyes, Will scoffed.

“Why are you defending him so much?” he asked, curiosity overpowering the anger coursing through his veins.

“Things have…” casting his eyes out towards the hauntingly beautiful lake, Merlin grimaced. Why _was_ he defending Arthur so much? Just _months_ ago he had been his biggest critic, wanting nothing more than to send the dollophead back where he’d come from. They had _argued_ and argued. They had shared menacing glares and looks of disdain. They could barely stay in each other’s presence without radiating loathing and apathy towards each other. But now…now they were… _friends._ Two people from two separate worlds that were beginning to slowly understand the other’s perspective.

“…changed between us.” He concluded, deciding that was an appropriate description. Will however deemed it was not.

“Don’t Merlin.” He snapped viciously. “Just fucking don’t.”

Merlin morphed from his calm, collective state into a desperate one. Leaning towards Will imploringly, he clasped his friend’s arm.

“Give them a chance, give _him_ a chance-“

Brushing Merlin’s arm away, Will lowered his knees, body tilting away from his friend.

“-I can’t do that Merlin.”

Swallowing-hard, Merlin sighed. He knew this was hard for Will, especially with all that had happened in the past. Surely enough was enough? Everybody else, even the _Elders_ seemed to accept Arthur into the clan. Why couldn’t Will just be _happy_ that something _good_ had come from Camelot for once? Dejectedly, Merlin studied Will’s stern profile. The words that came next stopped his heart.

“That’s why I’m leaving.”

Stunned into silence, Merlin looked at his friend. He hadn’t properly processed the words. When he had, a series of emotions shifted through him. His first initial response was an incredulous smile because _this was Will_ his best friend and he _wouldn’t just leave._ Then the smile faded into a dark abyss as _realisation_ hit Merlin. But he _would,_ because Will was a stubborn ass, Will never did what he was told. His eyes widened, heart racing. Shock.

“What?” he gasped, reaching out for his friend protectively. Fear. Fear of losing the best friend he’d ever had. Will remained cryptically silent, eyes distant and not meeting Merlin’s. “ _No!”_ desperation, denial. He clutched Will tighter.

“You can’t…” Then the sadness washed over him, trudging across his skin, slowly sinking into the skin beneath his eyes. Acceptance. “Wh-…where?”

“Serepolis.” Will finally said, not daring to look over to Merlin. “I’m going to stay with Freya.”

The depth of affection and fierce determination in his voice hid nothing. Surprise was the next emotion to swathe over Merlin. He hadn’t seen Freya for a long time…not since they decided it was best to part ways as just friends. It seemed like Will had kept in contact with her, more than Merlin was aware of. They had clearly blossomed into something more, if his voice was anything to go by. Raising his eyebrows, Merlin stared at his friend, unsure what to think. Freya was….well…a lot of things, a lot of unresolved things. He wasn’t really sure _what_ to think about Freya, or the thought of his best friend and her being together.

“You and her?” was the only thing he found he could say, not exactly a subtle approach to a rather delicate subject.

Merlin had already stamped all over Will’s attempt at delicacy. Therefore, he saw no point in trying to be elusive and returned the gesture.

“For a while now.” He admitted sheepishly.

Merlin effortlessly steered the conversation back into the forest of elusiveness, where words spoken didn’t mean what they _should_ mean, and silence didn’t mean what it _should_ mean.

“You…kept that quiet.” Merlin mused impalpably, gazing back out across the lake.

Incapable of continuing this strange game of uncertainty, Will laughed bitterly. Of _course_ he’d kept it fucking quiet!

“Forgive me for not exactly being sure how you’d take the news.”

Merlin smiled lightly, narrowly missing eye contact with Will. The pair dwelled in silence, a silence slightly less tense than it had been beforehand. Both seemed to be processing the other’s reaction to their recent conversation. Drawing his eyebrows together, Merlin frowned.

“I’m guessing there’s no way I can talk you out of leaving.” He sighed, turning back to Will miserably.

 _Finally_ meeting Merlin’s eyes, Will smiled sadly back at his lifelong friend. Their gaze was lingering and soft, entwined with memories of their childhood, their evergreen friendship. Yet something foreign had weaved its way between their gaze. At first it was hard to identify, hiding away behind the affection. It was nostalgia, implying that things were going to change, and may never be the same again for the pair of them. Yes, their friendship was evergreen. But these were difficult, testing times. It was no surprise the tree was beginning to shed its leaves. 

“I’m going Merlin.”

“…You’re coming back.” Merlin stated, in a manner that made it sound more like a fact and less like a question.

Will said nothing in return to this, breaking their long period eye contact where every emotion was transferred amid them. The silence was a dark confirmation of everything Merlin feared. Panic swathed over Merlin. Will was _leaving._ He…he might not come back. Will might leave Ealdor _forever._ Gritting his teeth, Merlin bowed his head, attempting to compose himself. They had grown up together, spent their entire lives together.

“ _Will-”_ he whispered subconsciously.

“-Don’t you _dare_ make this harder for me than it already is Merlin.” Will hissed forebodingly, clearly troubled by delivering the news to his friend. The menacing wave crashed by their feet, crumbling into desperation. “ _Please._ I have to do this.”

And Merlin, because he wanted to be the best friend he could be, pretended that he understood. He feigned bravery, lifting his head from his knees slowly. Will _was_ leaving. There was no changing that. There was no point parting like this, unhappy and miserable. It wouldn’t bode well for either of them. Merlin knew Will didn’t want to upset him, wanted anything but to hurt Merlin. Smiling lightly, Merlin tried to dispel the melancholy building up inside of him.

“When are you going?” he asked, not expecting the reply he received.

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m…” swallowing down the lump in his throat, Merlin breathed a morose laugh, full of disbelief this was really happening. “I’m sorry that it’s come to this.”

“Yeah.” Will said rather monotonously. “Me too.”

**♦☼♦**

It took a few hazy moments to regain her breathing. With two more ragged gasps, she sat up gradually, confusion swathed over her face. Confusion then mutated into panic the moment she cast her mind back to what she had seen. This was not supposed to happen.

Never again…

The peculiar and ominous nightmares had beleaguered her nights from the age of seven. Alone and scared she would nestle in the warmth of her navy duvet, body shaking with raw fear and eyes wide open to avoid submerging into the depths of horrific scenes barely unravelling before abruptly moulding into another. The third night, when the thunder had roared through the skies vehemently and lit the room in a blinding flash, she awoke from them hastily and made her way down the unnecessarily long corridor to Arthur’s room. Here she had crept inside and found the boy enveloped in an effortless slumber, a pang of jealousy had enshrouded her thoughts as she watched him sleep for a moment. Then violently, she shook him awake, rewarded with a petulant scowl.

“What do you want Morg?” he had hissed in unabashed annoyance, rubbing his eyes lightly to fully plunge himself back into consciousness.

Hauling herself onto the endless realm of his bed, she quickly climbed under the covers.

“I’m scared.” She had whispered, tears threatening to roll down her pearly cheeks and unveil the torment she had endured the past few nights.

Without hesitation, Arthur crawled across the bed towards her, quick to recognise the level of genuine fear in permeating from her sparkly eyes. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he had feigned courage and told her he would make whoever had caused her to cry, cry a thousand guilty tears of their own. She had smiled, if she recalled correctly, but it had faded almost instantly. This was the first night she had revealed her nightmares to anybody, and Arthur had patiently listened to her, a hint of curiosity burnishing behind his sapphire eyes. Her brother – despite not being linked by blood, the relationship had been forged to resemble this familial bond- had let her stay in his room for the night, pledging that the nightmares couldn’t reach his bed because that Basilisk from Harry Potter lurked in the dark expanse beneath.

Morgana dreamt of meadows, and flowers, and everything seven year old girls were supposed to dream about.

The nightmares did not return to her that night, or the next.

It remained like that for two weeks.

When the scratchy fingers had plucked her away once more from the peaceful dreaming state, it was unexpected and violent. Morgana had seen things that could not be unseen, wreaking havoc upon her both physically and mentally. Darkness had barricaded her in her room for hours, where the only option was to shut her eyes and surrender to the mysteries of the night. She had been too shaken to run to Arthur’s room, or to call out for help. It was only after a whole week of this, when her eyes had turned red and thick lines etched into her skin, that the signs of something sinister became evident to Uther. After seeing a specialist, Morgana had been prescribed strong tablets that would ensure she slept. They only aggravated the situation further. And for many nights, Morgana screamed and thrashed in her bed ruthlessly, unable to escape into reality until the sun rose the next morning not matter how hard Uther and a panicked Arthur tried to wake her. Gaius had then been called upon by an anxious Uther, and administered her a special potion to chase away the nightmares.

Arthur had tucked her into bed every night for the next seven months, ensuring to kiss her temple gently once she had drunk the sleeping draught. After six months of gradual improvement, the nightmares shifted from intense visions of ferocity into small bursts, and then eventually into nothing.

It took a year for the nightmares to stop completely.

Now fifteen years later, sitting in her unstable bed in the Camelot Base in the heart of Albion, Morgana realised she had been foolish to believe they would never return. Pulling the duvet over her tightly, she hugged her knees, eyes wandering around the sparse room she would inhabit until Uther’s madness ceased. Part of her contemplated seeking out somebody to talk. Talking helped her, she found. It soothed her mind, put her fears at rest. Even in the years where there were no nightmares, sleep had always been difficult. However, the only people who knew all about this was Uther and Arthur – Arthur was in Ealdor, Uther was…he a far from sympathetic person, particularly on matters of this kind. A shudder ran up her spine at the thought of him discovering the nightmares had returned. A spark of hope that perhaps Gaius may be released irrationally flashed through her mind was quickly dismissed with a heavy reality. Gaius was detained in the laboratory.

Tracing a finger absently across the duvet, Morgana pressed a hand to her burning temple with a laboured sigh. Her heart was racing obstinately, unable to retain normalcy. She sat up silently and waited until slits of sunlight seeped through the silver blinds by the window, eyes glassed over pensively. Relentlessly, the images continued to breach the peaceful settings she had tried to implant inside her head. Everything was _fine-_ but was it? Was it _really?_ What she had encountered in the depths of the dark nightmare was beyond anything she had _ever_ seen in her childhood. It was worse- _terrifying._

The reason why it was _so_ terrifying sent her body into impulsive quivers. 

It was so terrifying was because it was terrifyingly _real._

**♦☼♦**

Will had left at the crack of dawn as promised, bidding goodbye only to the four people who truly mattered in his life: Hunith, Balinor, Gwenevere and of course Merlin. Balinor and Hunith were the closest things he had to real parents, acting as his guardian for almost his entire life. Gwenevere had rescued him when he was in peril, and Merlin…Merlin had _always_ been there, for as long as he could remember it was him and Merlin. As the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon eagerly, he left the four figures. Gwenevere wiped her eyes, wrapping her arms around Merlin’s waist comfortingly. Balinor and Hunith remained cryptically silent, studying their son with poignant eyes. Merlin was motionless; his eyes were vacant, fists clenched by his sides tightly. It was evident Will’s sudden and unexpected departure was wrecking havoc inside of him. His eyes didn’t leave the horizon, watching as Will became nothing but a hazy mirage in the distance, fading into the forest. Swallowing-hard, he cast a dismal glance over to his parents, then down to Gwen in his arms.  

Releasing him, Gwenevere tried to offer her friend a smile, but she failed miserably. Will had been a close friend of Gwen’s, her first druid friend. She’d saved his life; she’d experienced many hardships with him. Now he was gone, now he might not be coming back. Merlin noticed her despair and decided to lock away his turmoil. Reaching for her hands, he caressed the palms soothingly.

“He’ll be fine.” He said blankly, voice lacking emotion or depth, eyes empty.

Gwenevere nodded fiercely, blinking away her tears. She squeezed Merlin’s hands with her own before walking back to Ealdor silently. Hunith followed her swiftly, smoothing a hand over her son’s shoulder as she went. Sighing, Balinor leant towards his son. Merlin gazed into his father’s eyes, allowing the suppressed emotions to surface. His eyes became watery, his body shaking, his lips trembling. Instinctively, he fell into his father’s comforting embrace, allowing his tears to fall quietly, muffled by the navy robes. Balinor cupped his son’s head, gently stroking the dark hair.

“It’s not your fault Merlin,” He cooed, expression severe. Merlin should have known better than to hide what he was thinking from his father, he knew him too well. “He wanted to go. You know Will,”

Lifting his head from his father’s chest, Merlin sniffed.

“I do. He’s a stubborn ass, only satisfied if he gets his own way.” There was slight hint of bitterness intertwined with the fondness radiating from his voice.

For a moment, the pair of them dwelled in the morose silence. Will would be _fine._ Will was headstrong. He was going to be with Freya after all, the pair of them would be happy, together finally. Merlin was still unsure how he felt about this, and hadn’t told anyone else this personal information. Nobody else needed to know. It wasn’t like he _still had_ those kinds of feelings for Freya anymore. A pang in his chest resonated, full of a dull ache. It was an ache to see his old friends again, an ache for Will to come stumbling through the forest chanting ‘fooled you!’. The ache grew when he realised this wasn’t going to happen. Abruptly, Merlin left his father’s arms and walked back to Ealdor. Balinor followed slowly, glad Merlin couldn’t see the overwhelming amount of concern and pity emitting from his eyes.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur had noticed it immediately. The second he had seen Merlin approach from across the clearing he knew, something was wrong. The druid looked weary, restless and fatigued, and a whole lot of other things all meshed together dangerously in a combination that seemed extremely unstable. He didn’t acknowledge Arthur’s presence as he walked past, his eyes locked on the horizon – they were empty and lacking life. Arthur watched Merlin trudge towards a thick log. He sat on it pensively, hands clasped over his knees. He was clearly deep in thought. Curiously, Arthur strode towards Merlin, sitting beside him on the fallen, decaying tree trunk. It was so thick that their feet dangled off the sides, not close enough to touch the ground. They sat in silence for a moment. Then Merlin cleared his throat and spoke, not acknowledging Arthur with his eyes.

“William’s father was killed,” he stated banally. “whilst rescuing a group of druids from the labs in Camelot. That’s why he doesn’t trust you.”

Well. Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise at the dark news, unsure what exactly toe say. _That_ certainly put things into perspective. No wonder William was set out to kill Arthur with vehement looks and aggressive behaviour. His _father_ had no doubt been slaughtered in the labs, under the orders of Uther Pendragon. He homed into Merlin’s last words: That why he doesn’t trust you. _Trust._ Arthur tried not to wince at the word. Nobody here _really_ should trust him. As Gwaine said, he was playing a dangerous game, toying with things completely out of his control, playing ‘secret spy’ for his father. Grimacing, he bought a hand to his face.

“What if he’s right not to trust me?” he exhaled.

At this surprising statement, Merlin turned his attention to Arthur in anxiety. Is that what Arthur thought? Did he _really_ think that the druids didn’t trust him, that they honestly _believed_ he had some kind of secret agenda? Affection and loyalty blazed through Merlin’s eyes passionately. Arthur Pendragon had revealed his true self recently. He was a good man- a _great_ man. He was going to change things. _They_ were going to change things, together. Arthur observed the blinding faith radiating from Merlin’s stern expression, filtering through his eyes. Leaning towards the blonde, Merlin shook his head determinedly.

“He isn’t.” his voice had infinite fortitude. “I _know_ he isn’t.”

Feeling uneasy, and suddenly nauseous Arthur found he couldn’t overlook the overwhelming amount of resilience in that voice. Merlin really _did_ trust him, really did _respect him._ But no – it was more than this. Merlin _believed_ in him. The words were touching, reassuring. Fondly, Arthur smiled at the druid, eyes blissfully open and revealing the warmth bleeding out from his insides.

“He’ll come around though I’m sure,” he replied, a low chuckle slipped past his lips. “ _You_ did.”

Meeting Arthur’s eyes, Merlin laughed. He hoped it was convincing. However, the laugh sounded mechanical and hollow, evidently forced. It didn’t take long for the blonde to establish this. Arthur scrutinised the druid’s face in the few seconds that passed between them. Those eyes were sparkling, but they weren’t _actually_ sparkling. It was an illusion forged by the rays of sunlight glistening down over them. His cheekbones created dark crevasses in his face, heavily exaggerated in the light. His lips were pursed shut tightly, drawn into a thin unwavering line. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur gazed imploringly into Merlin’s eyes, hoping for some kind of explanation for his subdued behaviour.

“Will he….” Pausing for a moment, Merlin averted his eyes attempting regain composure. “he left.” Silence. Arthur’s eyes widened at the shocking news. “This…morning.”

“Oh, right.” Arthur offered meekly, eyes rendering Merlin’s body language, understanding the depth of his sadness. He didn’t know _much_ about Will and Merlin’s friendship, but he assumed they’d been friends for a heck of a long time. They were contrasting characters, each bearing essential qualities the other lacked and using it to balance the other out. Merlin shrugged non-committedly.

“It’s okay.” He muttered, bowing his head.

It was _not_ okay. Arthur had learnt by now Merlin was a terrible liar. Raking a hand through his blonde locks, Arthur sighed.

“How about we continue the next lesson tomorrow?” he asked hesitantly, unsure if Merlin would comprehend what he was implying. Merlin remained motionless, Arthur continued swiftly. “I have some things to attend to back at the base.”

Merlin nodded in agreement, a trace of a smile framing his soft lips. Arthur was giving him space, giving him time to himself because he _knew_ Merlin needed it. It was a gesture of compassion, one of the first gestures of such emotion between them. Arthur leapt off the fallen tree trunk, beginning to edge away into the bustling centre of the clan. Abruptly Merlin lifted his head.

“Arthur.”

Tearing his head back towards the druid, Arthur met Merlin’s eyes. The same compassion echoed through them, his smile growing slightly.

“ _Thank you.”_

Smiling back, Arthur said nothing in response. Instead, he intensified the gaze between them, pouring his words into the connection bonding their eyes together. Then he turned his attention away, preparing himself for a mundane day back in Camelot Base. He had turned too quickly to notice Merlin’s smile broaden into a substantial beam, or see the way the sapphire eyes _actually_ sparkled hopefully. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will's departure, Morgana's nightmares. Arthur's voice... what's coming next?  
> Enjoy! Updated twice today as I'm away for a week or so!

Breakfast had been torturous. The large hall was bustling with people, employees of Camelot Enterprise. Some were soldiers, some businessmen and some worked in maintenance and some had other jobs that may not be crucial to the project, but were no doubt essential to the running of the base. Everybody was queuing eagerly for the morning bacon rashers or whatever they desired from the kitchen. The glorious weather outside had stimulated optimism and cheer amongst many. Gwaine, Leon and Lancelot were amongst the group that had been indoctrinated by the sunlight. Merrily, Leon placed his tray beside Morgana, offering her a warm smile that gently stirred her heart. Part of her had wondered if she should tell Leon about the events of last night. Would he understand? What if he _didn’t_ understand?

By the time Gwaine bounded over with Lancelot two minutes later (boasting about their adventures in Ealdor, knowing it would turn Leon green with envy), Morgana found her opportunity had faded and she remained conspicuously quiet whilst they ate. If the boys noticed anything, they hadn’t voiced their concerns. However, she was aware of Leon casting her dubious glances during conversation as she prodded her bacon vacantly. He too, to her relief, said nothing.

There was only _one_ person that would understand, and that was Arthur.

The slight ache in her chest grew at the realisation that she had no idea when he was next returning. Unable to finish the greasy food, Morgana stood from the table, and made her way towards the back door. She entered the base grounds, inhaling the fresh pine air. It soothed her lungs, relieving her tension a little. She made her way around to the delicate flower patch when an ugly buzzing noise screeched out from behind her. Spinning around, she watched the man transform from a fuzzy hologram to a solid body. He adjusted the teleporting device in his hands; clearly naive to the fact he was being watched.

He lifted his head finally, meeting her eyes. A peculiar mixture of affection and annoyance brushed over his features. Morgana smiled back, almost nervously. Observing this newfound anxiety within her, he strode forwards and examined her weary face in more detail.

“Come on then,” he said rather petulantly, Morgana assumed he had just come back from a dispute with Merlin. “spit it out.”

Frowning, the raven-haired woman hesitated, feeling the words forming but unsure whether to voice them. Arthur raised is eyebrows, and she resigned to being honest with him.

“Do you remember when I was seven, I had those nightmares?” she asked, watching his lax jaw tighten, eyes become stern and hollow. This indication of concern quickly fled and in its place was something resembling scepticism. He appeared to have already established where this was going and what she was going to say.

“Morgana.” He drew the word out slowly on his tongue, leaning towards her with narrowed eyes. It was pathetic how his rendering of her name in this instance almost crumbled her resolution and determination to continue the conversation. Dismissing his tone, she clutched his arm severely, locking their eyes together.

“I had another one last night Arthur.” He rolled his eyes at this, causing her to wince. “It was like nothing I’ve _ever_ dreamt before. I saw things Arthur. Terrible things. But I feel.” She paused to catch herself before her words became an incoherent spluttering. Inhaling a deep breath of air, she continued steadily.

“I feel like it’s going to happen…as if the nightmare was _real._ It was like I saw the futu-”

“-Morgana!” Arthur interrupted warily, voice dangerously low and suggesting she should not utter such things in the middle of a Camelot facility.

His insensitive reaction released her short-fused temper.

“Don’t you _Morgana_ me!” she squeezed his arm a little tighter. “It’s not impossible Arthur.” Water began welling in her eyes. “You’ve been spending everyday with the druids, you know what powers they possess. I…I think…” swallowing a lump of tears, she averted her gaze to the ruby flowers.

Eyes wide, she blinked slowly as her mind pieced together the theory that had just revealed itself. Gaius had _magic._ He had administered the _potions_ for her nightmares. What if Gaius had put magic into it because she herself was a-

“….You think you have _magic?”_ he whispered, almost inaudibly.

The weight of the words aloud sent her heart plummeting to the tips of her toes and quickly rising back up again. It suddenly was difficult to anchor her balance on the ground beneath her feet. Wavering from side to side, she stumbled meekly. Arthur instinctively reached out and supported her. Their eyes met in a long, silent gaze that said nothing, and meant everything. Adjusting herself, she leant towards him now fully aware that if _anybody_ heard this conversation she could be in grave danger.

“ _You_ can use magic.” She muttered curiously, and Arthur turned his head rapidly around the area in caution. Nobody knew of his secret and surprising gift here. Not even his _father._ Only Gwaine and Lancelot had witnessed his spell-casting in Ealdor. But neither had said a word. The consequences of baring magic could be _colossal_. He was slightly taken-aback as to how _she_ knew about his powers. Hiding his surprise, Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. His magic was mystery, even to Hunith it seemed.

“I am just one of a few rare _þá útlendan_ that can use it.” He replied, lowering his gaze to her grip on his arm then back up to her urgent eyes. The uncertainty resonated in his sapphire eyes, and gave Morgana a wealth of hope.

“You can’t _learn_ magic Arthur, even you know that.”

Arthur didn’t respond, he knew the truth of her words, the message that was encrypted behind it. There were implications of his father’s dark past or something along those lines plastered on her forehead.

“Well, I’m just _so amazing_ Albion made an exception for me.” He bragged with a false grin.

Shooting him an incredulous look, Morgana felt the corners of her lips tingle a little. Slight warmth spread through her chest at this moment of short amusement. Shifting the conversation from himself, Arthur sighed softly.

“Morgana-“

“-Why didn’t you _tell me_ you could do magic Arthur? This changes _everything-”_  

“-It changes _nothing._ ” He fiercely retorted, eyes burning into her. The fear of his father finding out, or Cedric and Valiant for that matter invigorated the raging inferno. “You are to tell _no-one_ of this Morgana.”

Nodding reluctantly, Morgana frowned and released his arm. The wave of disappointment clouding her body language washed over the male, soaking him in guilt. He pursed his lips together, then placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He said distantly. However, she appeared to be completely immersed in a different stream of thoughts.

“I don’t know what to do Arthur.” She breathed, shaking her head. “I…I’ve _seen things._ I…”

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” She was cut off by Arthur’s calming tone, his hands reached to her back and rubbed over it comfortingly. Just like when she was younger, here he was looking after her. He had always looked after her. She had always tried to look after him too. Yes, granted was the fact that the past ten years of their lives had been saturated in petty arguments, _serious_ arguments and playful arguments. Arguing had begun to be their sole method of communication, an unhealthy dysfunctional relationship threatening to form. It was the moments like this that assured Morgana that she and Arthur would never _truly_ lose their unique bond.

“They’re just _dreams_. Nothing more Morg.” He cooed in her ear.

Unsure whether to believe him, but certain to trust Arthur’s words, Morgana hummed in response inanely. She remembered the childhood nickname he had for her, how strange it sounded to her ears after all of these years of dormancy. Smiling against his protective embrace, the nightmares slipped to the back of her mind. Then abruptly, just when she had begun to indulge in the safety of his arms, he released her and kissed the top of her forehead, the same way he had fifteen years ago. The gesture had great significance to the pair, who exchanged a profound look.

“I’ll let Merlin know I’m staying here tonight.” He said before coughing awkwardly.

The unspoken significance of the words rang through Morgana’s ears. With that, Arthur brushed over his clothes and began to make his way towards the Camelot Enterprise building, clearly a little fazed by this meeting with the woman.

“-Arthur!” Morgana called out, drawing the male to a halt.

He glanced over his shoulder to see her twinkling eyes swathed in gratitude.

“Thank you.”

He offered her a small smile, and then began to make his way into the building, out of Morgana’s sight. The day was long, with duties to complete for _both_ Merlin and Uther, Arthur had no more time to waste. As he made his way into the building, he glanced back at the abnormally shaken woman, deeply confused about their recent conversation. Questions raced in his mind. How did she _know_ he could do magic? Did Gwaine tell her? What if she really _did_ have magic? What if-

“-Arthur. I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”

The sound of his father’s voice dragged him away from his thoughts and back to the reality of Camelot. He cast his eyes back to the raven-haired woman who was studying the flowers before acknowledging his father.

**♦☼♦**

“How much longer are you going to stand there watching me like a clotpole?” Merlin asked absently, eyes remaining focused on the burnishing amber sky, the clouds ablaze with regal shades crimson and gold.

The vast forest of Ealdor was a black silhouette against the languid rays of light radiating from the sun that was plummeting down behind the hilly terrain of the western valleys. It had been many months since the sun had announced its departure to slumber in such a splendid manner. Merlin was certain many other druids were marveling at the beautiful sight. In fact, he himself was so fixated on the sunset that he had almost forgotten Arthur’s presence until the blonde spoke.

“I’m…sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll just head back to-”

Reluctantly tearing his eyes from the horizon, momentarily worried it would vanish if he looked away; Merlin narrowed his eyes at the male in confusion. He could sense hesitance and something else stirring through Arthur’s voice. Before the blonde could lower his foot onto the branch below, Merlin replied.

“-No. Stay.” Arthur gazed up, only to see Merlin’s tuft of black hair against the majestic sky.

Slowly, he sat down beside the druid cross-legged on the gigantic branch. It had been a _strange_ day. Merlin was offset by Will’s departure, and Arthur was subdued by Morgana’s nightmares. The pair of them were both harboring different anxieties. Then he allowed himself to appreciate the glorious sunset unraveling before him. Mouth agape slightly; he watched the final curvature of the sun slip out of sight beneath the hills. A small laugh of disbelief escaped his lips, drawing Merlin’s attention towards him curiously.

“In all my life…I’ve never seen a sunset like it.” He said breathlessly, leaning forwards as if it would somehow preserve the moment forever and freeze time. The man beside him smiled warmly, humming in agreement whilst drinking in the final touches of the sunset. A light violent shade began to paint the lower canvas of the sky against a darker red and gold hue, suggesting that the night was gradually approaching.

“I…I wanted to thank you.” Arthur felt Merlin’s intense gaze fall upon him as he spoke. He could practically _feel_ the doubt in the man’s eyes, taste the interest. Merlin’s suspicions that something was troubling Arthur was instantly deemed correct now. Since when had Arthur _thanked_ him for anything aside from being sarcastic or flippant? Surely Merlin should be thanking _Arthur_ for his consideration of today’s events. The young Pendragon continued.

“You have been generous and accommodating for me, despite my background.”

Instead of acknowledging the complement and gratification, Merlin drew his knees to his chest, leaning close to Arthur. His eyes did not leave the horizon.

“Something’s troubling you.”

Attempting to hide his astonishment at Merlin’s effortless ability to read him, Arthur shrugged casually. He too found the scenery too intoxicating to deviate his vision.

“What gives you that idea?” he retorted in a gruff manner, gesturing that there was indeed something troubling him. Arthur had never been a brilliant liar after all.

“Well,” Merlin began, eyes crinkling gently in amusement. “For starters you haven’t acted like a prat or said anything stupid so _something_ must have-“ his words faded into a fond chuckle as Arthur forcefully shoved him with his elbow with a playful grin.

“Shut-up _Mer_ lin.”

A light-hearted laugh escaped Merlin’s lips whilst outstretching his own palm. Arthur watched him intently, his eyes gleaming in a manner that definitely did _not_ resemble anything like veneration or fascination for that matter. Gazing out into the horizon, Merlin’s lips twitched a little with something Arthur could not identify. Then the sapphire orbs shifted into that captivating gold hue, and in the druid’s palm appeared a hovering crimson sphere that matched the burning sky around Ealdor, emitting a healthy glow that added more rapture to Merlin’s usual radiance.

Choking back an amazed smile, this magic lark _still_ continued to astound him in its simple beauty and sheer power, Arthur revealed a crocked grin. His grin faded the moment Merlin shifted his palm towards him, gesturing for him to open up his hand. Swallowing-hard, Arthur reluctantly opened his own palm. Practicing spells and conjuring light magical enchantments was all he had been capable of producing so far. None of Merlin’s lessons so far had involved anything of this caliber. He noticed the dark-haired man’s reassuring smile and decided to trust those glimmering eyes.

Merlin bought his palm slowly over to Arthur’s and titled it slightly, causing the crimson sphere to wobble unsteadily in the air. Focusing his mind for a moment, Arthur studied the sphere. He admired the smooth curvatures; its burnishing glow. Then unexpectedly, Merlin let his palm rest vertically, and the sphere toppled into Arthur’s open hand. It wavered with Arthur’s brief shock, and then settled into his magic with a low, hypnotic hum.

Reaching out his free hand to towards it curiously, Arthur released a shaky laugh at the tingling sensation in his skin. It resonated through his body warmly, and it left a dull ache of longing when it disappeared. Merlin observed him with softened features, fingers trailing over the sphere to appreciate the conjured object. Gently, now with more confidence, Arthur transferred the sphere to his other palm. He was too transfixed on it to see a sickening level of satisfaction wash over Merlin’s face.

“That’s _good_ Arthur.” He said, clearly impressed with the level of accuracy and control his student -no…acquaintance- not really….fr-his _Arthur_ was showing.

If it were any other day, when the sunset wasn’t so enrapturing, or when his mind was not fixed on all of his lies and secrets, Arthur would have grinned before making a sarcastic teasing comment. Instead, he bounced the sphere with gentle movements of his palm pensively. Morgana’s words came back to him in this instance, instigating a frown.

“…How is it I can do magic Merlin?” he asked hesitantly. “Lance and Gwaine can’t do it. _Gwenevere_ can’t do it and she’s lived with you for years.” Exasperated by the question he had suddenly become engrossed with, he sighed and passed the sphere back into Merlin’s palms. “Why _me?_ ” 

Grimacing at the blonde man’s words, Merlin remained silent. Was this _all_ that was troubling Arthur’s mind? The fact that _he_ could do magic? Then it dawned on Merlin. Arthur Pendragon had been sheltered from magic his whole life, taught by his father and his bitter world it was nothing more than a tool for malevolence and evil. Now suddenly, he was wielding magic effortlessly under the lessons of Merlin. If people in Camelot knew of his powers, perhaps he too could suffer the consequences other druids did. The sphere softly was drained of its colour, fluctuating between a duller red, orange and yellow until it faded into transparency and ceased to exist.

“Some people are born with a destiny, born for greatness.” The enigmatic twinkle in Merlin’s eyes denoted a deep understanding that stunned Arthur for a moment. Sometimes when Merlin wasn’t being _such_ a dimwit, he was incredibly wise and fabricated the perfect words, sculpted by truth and honesty. This was one of those times. Gaze hovering over the raven-haired man’s face, he sighed and resolved to respond to Merlin with a similar truth and honesty.

“I hear a voice,” Arthur said and instantly winced at the desperation lingering in his own voice. Averting his eyes from the mesh of amber and violet spread over the sky, Merlin watched him intently. Arthur shuffled uncomfortably under the gaze.

“She calls to me at night. It sounds _crazy_ but I…I think it’s…I” bowing his head Arthur sighed audibly, not believing he was about to say this aloud. But it was _Merlin._ Who was Merlin going to tell? For some ridiculous reason, Merlin seemed to be becoming the one person he felt he _could_ talk to. Though they had never really spoken like _this_ before, it felt peaceful and soothing. Arthur wondered why the pair were both drawn to constant bickering and childish jibes as their sole method of communication when it was apparent they _could_ confide in each other in this strange way.

“It’s my mother. Igraine. I’ve never heard her voice until I came to Albion. But it’s just one of those things I can feel it in my gut. I _know_ it’s her.”

“Perhaps she is trying to tell you something, trying to communicate with you.” Merlin replied thoughtfully.

Arthur turned to him urgently, meeting his eyes.

“What do I _do_ Merlin?” the vulnerability radiating from a normally resolute man stunned the raven-haired druid for a moment. The young Pendragon who called him an _idiot_ and all sorts of other things was now searching for advice. No. It was more than that. He was lost; confused. His sapphire eyes revealed that much. Placing a hand on his knee, Merlin smiled.

“Follow her voice, it will take you to her.”

The prospect of meeting his _mother_ overwhelmed Arthur, and created a sate of desperate frenzy. Eyes wide, he leant towards the druid urgently. His next words tumbled out rapidly and slightly incoherent due to his flustered nature.

“Can you take me to her? Can you help me follow her voice? _Please_ Merlin I have to-”

“-Only _you_ can hear the calling Arthur.” Merlin interrupted, sadness etching over his expression at the distressed look on the blonde’s face.

He squeezed the man’s knee gently in hope Arthur would accept his condolences for not being able to offer anything more than words. Merlin knew more than _anyone_ how frustrating words seemed to be when all you wanted was a visual confirmation of someone important. His mind drifted to Gaius, and he removed his hand slowly with a solemn smile. Closing his agape mouth, Arthur nodded silently and cast his eyes away. Realisation of his recent behavior swathed over him, pulling him into a void of embarrassment. His father had taught him to keep his guard up, to never seen vulnerable or exposed. And yet here he was, talking to a _druid –_ Merlin – about matters that had plunged him into a state of disrepair. He hadn’t even begun to think about how he was going to deal with Morgana’s _nightmares_ yet. Bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose, Arthur clamped his eyes shut tightly.

“There’s something else.” Arthur gritted his teeth. _Damn_ Merlin and his perception. “What’s troubling you Arthur?”

Standing up abruptly, he strode towards the trunk of the tree.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He spat irritably. Fine, fine _fine._

If Merlin coaxed one more _trouble_ from his mind – Arthur reached the thick trunk, pulling out his teleporting device. He’d had enough of Merlin’s persuasion; god knows what else he would tell the druid if he didn’t _leave._ Turning his head, not bothering to stand from his meditative pose and abandon the sky, Merlin raised his eyebrows at Arthur’s dramatic mood change. It was unlike Arthur to be _genuinely_ angry. Unable to resist prying, Merlin replied.

“You don’t _sound_ like you’re fine-”

“-just shut the fuck up Merlin.” The brash insult lacked its usual comedic tone, gesticulating severity. 

A little wounded by the harsh tone in Arthur’s voice, Merlin narrowed his eyes. Hadn’t they _just_ been getting along? Hadn’t Arthur just poured his heart and soul into Merlin’s hands and _trusted_ his advice? Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, unsure why Arthur managed to evoke such concentrated emotions from him, Merlin let his own demeanor shift into a more petulant one. If Arthur wanted to play this _stupid_ game then fine. He spared a glance backwards, noticing the blonde had his teleporting device out.

“Where are _you_ going?” he asked, unrestrained annoyance plastered over his words.

“Camelot Base. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Without registering the evident upset on Merlin’s face, he pressed the green button and vanished from sight. Merlin cast a vacant stare at the spot he had once been stood in, and then turned his impassive attention back to the fresh mauve blanket and emerging stars of the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> þá útlendan - translates to 'stranger/foreigner'. In this story it is the term the Druids use for the people who work for Camelot that have come into their world. The significance of Arthur calling his own kind 'þá útlendan' is rather large.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just got home but about to go away again! So I wanted to update before I went again :) enjoy this one.

It wasn’t until around 2am in the morning that the disturbance from sleep came. Arthur had submerged himself into a peculiar dream, surrounded by Merlin and his blinding smile. They had travelled to the majestic mountains of Ghedent on a silvery Wyvern. It was a surprisingly peaceful dream; a dream that collapsed in on itself when the violent tremors of reality shook his body. Opening his eyes rapidly, Arthur jumped back at the sight of a raven-haired woman, eyes glassy and unrecognisable. Despite him having woken up, she continued to tug at his nightshirt. In one quick movement, he sat up and grabbed her hands, attempting to restrain the despairing motions. They struggled against his grip, a groan of fear slipped past her lips. Gazing at her eyes that had not once met his, he noted the extent of their dilation. The usual laurel green iris was fully consumed by black. Instantly, he established that she was still trapped in her nightmare. How she managed to get to his room, he was unsure. He softly lowered the pressure of his grip on her wrists, not wanting to intensify her fear or startle her.

“Morgana.” He whispered calmly, unable to fully control her writhing. She had never had a nightmare of _this_ ferocity, even in her childhood. He was sure if she had he would have been terrified. She appeared to be unresponsive to his words, locked in a terrifying world.

“Morgana!” he raised his voice a little, heart pacing at the sight of her subconscious hysteria.

He gently shook her, realising the idea was far from good as she clawed at his arms in a frantic struggle, a yelp escaping her lips. Before she could push him down, her weight toppling over him, he drew the two of them up and attempted to reach for her hand.

“It’s _me,_ Morgana.” She turned her head, gesturing she had recognised the voice from somewhere.

Maintaining his feigned composure, Arthur successfully grabbed her shaking hand without violent retaliation. It appeared his voice was becoming effective in rousing her.

“Morg. It’s Arthur.”

The word Arthur seemed to break the final barrier, and Morgana stumbled towards the ground. Catching her weary body, Arthur pressed a hand to her icy skin. Her pupils slowly contracted, and confused swathed over her face.

“….Arthur?”

Guilt consumed Arthur. The extent of her nightmares was worse than he could have possibly imagined, and to think earlier he had _dismissed_ them made him shudder. The terror that had previously gripped her swung back to his mind. Instinctively, he pulled her closer. 

“Yes. It’s Arthur.” He spoke slowly, lengthening his syllables. “I’m right here.” Silence. “Are you alright?”

“ _Help me_ Arthur, make it stop.” She whispered through a hoarse throat, tears welling in her eyes.

Determinedly, Arthur released her and opened the drawer by his bed. Morgana was right, he realised. If _he_ had magic, then why was it impossible for _her_ to have it too? These nightmares had returned in _Albion._ Arthur had experienced his own strange phenomenon here of hearing his mother’s voice in his dreams since their arrival. As Hunith said, it was a sacred land. Magic was inescapable, pocketed inside every breath of air, in very corner of Albion. Picking up the teleporting device from the drawer, he strode back towards Morgana and grabbed her hand. Before she could question him, he pressed a button and the two of them fell into a blinding flash of disorientating colours. But as soon as it begun it had ended, and Morgana found herself standing in a well-kept tiny room.

“Merlin.” Arthur hissed, crouching over the raven-haired man who was asleep in his uncomfortable bed. There was no response. “ _Merlin!”_

A groan of protest escaped the man’s lips, and Arthur bit back a fond smile before shaking the man from his sleep once more. Opening his eyes reluctantly, Merlin peered over his shoulder and then shut his eyes once more. He thought the hallucinations of Arthur in the middle of night had stopped months ago. Rolling his eyes, Arthur smacked him against the shoulder, causing Merlin to realise this was not a dream. He sat up quickly, hair tousled chaotically and nostrils flared in frustration.

“What on earth are you doing you _clotpo-_ “ his words faded into a gape as his eyes drifted to the woman standing in the corner of his room, hands pressed together.

Leaping out of his bed, Merlin stared at the pale-faced woman. She was wearing a delicate cream gown falling to her feet. Her eyes were distant, and fear was consumed over her pallid complexion. Then he turned back to Arthur for an explanation. Arthur left his crouching position beside the low bed and sighed.

“This is Morgana.” He said, holding a hand out towards the woman. “Morgana this is-”

“-Merlin.” She breathed pensively, eyes wide and locked on the druid. Arthur shuddered slightly at the tone of her voice. It was almost as if she had known his face long before they had teleported here- which was _impossible_. Merlin noted her peculiar recognition and then sharply spun back to the blonde man who had destroyed his tranquil evening by telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ earlier.

“She _shouldn’t_ be here. You saw yourself how the clan felt about you bringing Gwaine and Lancelot here.” He said in an authoritative voice, startling Arthur a little.

Tilting his head, Arthur gazed at the druid in shock. How could Merlin turn his back, when the terror consuming Morgana was so obvious it plagued the air?! Sure Balinor had commanded that he was to bring _nobody_ else here – and he had already broken that. But this was _different._ Anger flashed over his eyes as he took a step towards Merlin.

“We need your help Merlin. This is important.”

Shaking his head, Merlin leant towards Arthur seriously, eyes radiating concern.

“If she’s spotted or her presence is felt by the Elders you could be _banished_ from Ealdor!” he cried, and Arthur pretended he did not detect the evident upset in Merlin’s voice about this notion. “You cannot get away with violating the sanctions imposed upon your arrival _twice_!”

Instead of receiving an aggressive retort from Arthur as he expected, Merlin twisted his head to see the woman was now standing close beside him; her beauty was unfathomable. But it wasn’t her beauty that captivated him.

“I understand…I understand why I can’t be here.” She whispered, voice laced with that fear he had spotted initially. “I’ll go back. I _promise._ But I need your help.”

Gazing into her eyes, Merlin frowned. He could already feel the subconscious energy of the clan hovering around her. He spared Arthur a glance, and the silent pleading of the pair broke his resolution. Grabbing his tattered brown jacket, Merlin threw it over his shoulders and headed for the door.

“Follow me.”

Morgana let out a suppressed breath and made her way to the door with Arthur close behind.

“Thank-” Arthur begun but was cut off by Merlin instantly. For a moment, Arthur was dumbfounded by the command the idiot somehow had over him.

“-Don’t speak until I say so. They’ll hear you.”

**♦☼♦**

They walked for what felt like _hours_ under the guidance of a cryptically silent Merlin and the pale moon hanging mysteriously in the sky, emitting dim silvery wisps of patchy light through the occasional slits in the overlapping forest leaves. In Merlin’s hand was an enchanting blue sphere that allowed the two characters trailing behind to see roughly a diameter of two metres encompassing them. Arthur shuffled uncomfortably against the shrubbery beneath his feet, reminded of his first grim night in the forests. Surely Merlin was not idle enough to keep them on the forest floor? Who knew what sort of creatures was prowling through the lush thick trees, stalking their every move.

Morgana appeared unaffected by the notion of beasts and monsters, consumed in curiosity instead. Her eyes were latched onto the back of Merlin’s head, meeting his eyes intently whenever he glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were still there. Ten paces ahead, Merlin walked straight through the trees, vanishing from sight.

Morgana and Arthur did the same, and were surprised at where the rough shoves of branches had spat them out. In this small area no larger than forty metres of so, vaguely resembling a spherical shape, was a clearing of silvery grass. In the centre of the clearing a ginormous stub, remnants of an ancient tree that had fallen, stood majestically. Here the moonlight was able to reach, crawling down from the skies to submerge the clearing in a beautiful glow. Smiling softly at the pair, eyes drifting naturally towards Arthur, Merlin finally spoke.

“No creature will be stupid enough to enter this clearing or its surroundings. This is a protected place.”

His lips curled up into a gentle smile, directed at Morgana who sat down on the grass as instructed to do so. Merlin took a seat on the deceased tree stump, and Arthur became aware that he too should probably sit. As he sat, Merlin’s saccharine voice rang through his ears; a pang of guilt enshrouded him as he recalled how he had treated her earlier.

“So Morgana, how can I help?”

Turning to the blonde man for a moment, Morgana twisted her lips and resigned to speaking in a quiet voice rather unlike her usual bravado of confidence.

“When I was younger I had terrible nightmares. I saw things…”

She began to tell the story of her childhood, how Arthur had taken care of her (Merlin flickered his soft gaze to him for a moment, a strange warmth filled Arthur’s chest at this gesture) and how they seemed to escalate out of control rapidly.

“…Gaius prescribed her with some medication for it,” Arthur supplied informatively, knowing time was not on their side in this matter. “and after a year of medication, they went away.”

Laughing bitterly, the woman shook her head slowly.

“I never thought I’d have them again. But _here,_ Albion, they’ve returned. Sometimes they don’t _feel_ like dreams at all. It’s like I’m peering into a void of something else, and inside I see-” her words faded as she winced hesitantly.

Swallowing-hard, Merlin’s face became severe, as hard as a weathered stone that continued to stand despite the climatological warfare. This was far more serious than he could have imagined. He knew he had failed to mask his concerns. Turning his head to Arthur absently, he lowered his voice.

“Arthur, keep watch.” He commanded.

This was no matter for Arthur. This was…something Merlin had to address in private. Raising his eyebrows, Arthur narrowed his eyes at the druid. He was never one to listen to Merlin’s orders. Thus, he focused his mind and directed his thoughts into Merlin’s, with as much force as he could muster.

_There’s nobody here. Why can’t I stay?_

For a moment Merlin’s eyes sharpened, his gaze almost demonic in nature. He fiercely replied with wide, serious eyes.

_Just do it you prat._

Huffing wearily, Arthur stood up from his position and made his way towards the trees. The trees that were closest to the pair in the clearing mind you. Arthur was conspicuous in his evident plan to spy upon their words. The druid sitting opposite Morgana coughed rather loudly, almost in amusement. Arthur ground his teeth together in irritation, awaiting that voice to plague his mind to reveal his plans were foiled. It arrived swiftly.

_The other side, there is no need to eavesdrop in this. I will tell you my findings later._

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Arthur spun on his heel and petulantly marched off into the distance, conjuring a sphere similar to the nature of Merlin’s blue orb to keep him company in the darkness beyond the clearing. Unlike Merlin’s orb, Arthur’s was a fiery red, mirroring the colour of his face and the irritation stirring inside him. To the druid’s relief, Morgana did not notice how he supressed a grin, clearly humoured by Arthur’s childish behaviour. Once the blonde man became nothing but a mirage between the gentle rocking of the tree’s arms, the raven-haired man continued and leant towards the woman eagerly.

“Morgana, what kind of things have you seen?”

Her eyes cast down to the ground, unsure what to say or how to even _begin_ to describe her strange encounters at night. A hand touched hers lightly, and as she lifted her head she was met with a soothing smile. Sighing, the woman shut her eyes for brief moment. When they opened, Merlin removed his hand sceptically for a reason he did not reveal, but his eyes remained fixated warily on her own.

“I saw your face. I knew who you were _before_ I met you.” She whispered. “Sure Arthur talks about you all time,” a mischievous element wavered in her tone for a moment, examining Merlin’s instinctive smile. It faded as she continued. “But I’ve never _seen_ you. How is it possible, _Emrys_?”

At the ancient, powerful name, Merlin cocked his head to one side, not exactly sure how to respond to her words. It fell effortlessly off her tongue, the magic language seemed destined to resonate from her mouth. He tired to cast it aside, perhaps Arthur had accidentally let the fact slip that he was Emrys. Though he knew instantly that was untrue, he trusted Arthur had not spread around Merlin’s real identity; something else as at work here. Merlin inconspicuously showed no emotion or sign of recognition to the name. The more people knew about _Emrys,_ the more danger Ealdor –and admittedly himself- were in. 

“Anything else?”

His meticulous questions appeared to appease Morgana to drop the subject and press on with the _real_ matter. She nodded enthusiastically, using her hands to aid her descriptions.

“…Fire blazing through the forests, destruction, people screaming, _druids_ screaming. Dragons. Lions. There was great bloodshed and war. I saw Uther, I saw it _all._ ”

“And how do the things you see…” Merlin grappled to find the right word and settled with one. “… _unfold?”_

“They don’t. By the time one begins it fades into another confusing scene.”

“Do you ever hear voices? _Words?_ ”

“There’s never words. The words are always blurred out.”

Twisting his lips together, Merlin wished he could allow himself to reveal the anxiety spreading over his body. But this was a complicated situation that had to be dealt with delicacy. Morgana was working for _Camelot._ Any notion of magic was dangerous. However, the resemblance to his visions in the Crystals, to confronting visions of the future- it was uncanny. Even more unnerving was the fact that the things she had seen appeared far more detailed than the hazy stabs of tabloids he saw. A little fascinated, he bit his tongue rapidly before it spilled the wrong type of questions, questions that would encourage her and convince her of the truth. Then Morgana spoke, and he knew the words would come to haunt him for many nights.

“…Is it magic Merlin?”

He felt a great shadow hover over him, and knew that he was going to have to make a choice.

It was a difficult choice where both options had their benefits and drawbacks. A choice that he should not even have to make, because in reality it was not his fate or Ealdor’s that lay in his hands. It was Morgana’s: a woman he had just met. Scanning her profile slowly, his eyes rested on an irritable patch of swollen, bruised skin on her arms. Subconsciously, he had already made the choice and dived towards her arms urgently, steering the conversation away from magic and seers. Examining her arm, it seemed that the gods were favoured towards this choice too as a substantial amount of bite marks which had induced violent swelling and redness in some areas. 

“These don’t look so good.” he hissed, wincing a little at their severity.

It appeared that the newcomers were not as immune to the course of nature here as the druids were. He wondered for a moment if Uther and his team had considered that the bugs out here were less passive than in their world, and if he had even bothered to think about special remedies for those who may suffer from them. The humans really _were_ naïve to this world, he thought with a wicked twinkle in their eyes. Gazing down at her arms, she furrowed her brows together.

“What is it?”

Merlin had learnt many of his skills in healing and diagnosis from Gaius. When Gaius had been in Ealdor, before Balinor had raised the importance of his stay in the other world, they had searched the land for herbs. He quickly recalled Gaius’ lecture on bugs and some of the traits of their bites. The bites on Morgana’s arms resembled the classic trademarks of a Fruten fly, a nasty flying bug with a nastier hallucinogen mixed into its bites. His eyes lit up in realisation at this. Her bites were substantial. There were at _least_ ten.

Now the gods were _really_ supporting this choice. Merlin frowned a little dramatically, holding a hand to his chin.

“You’ve been bitten rather extensively by a Fruten. Fruten bites have the ability to cause vivid hallucinations and in some cases intense nightmares.” Touching his hand to her swollen skin that was smouldering hot, he met her eyes.

“Can you remember when you got these bites?” he asked.

“I got bitten a few times when I first came here. But most of these happened the evening befo-“ halting mid-sentence, she glanced at Merlin’s knowing stare and the hope of her nightmares being _more_ than just nightmares shattered helplessly in front of her eyes. Gesturing for her to continue, Merlin held in a subdued sigh. He could see the disappointment emanating from her eyes.

“Before the nightmares started.” She said slowly, an admission of her delusional beliefs wrapping around her mind.

For a moment, she reminded herself of Uther, so blinded by heavy belief in one thing that she would not listen to any other explanation simply because she didn’t want to be wrong. Emptiness consumer her. She was foolish to have even _considered_ magic it seemed. Part of her questioned the nightmares of her childhood. But her curiosity fizzled out as the cold realisation that she was not the only child to have nightmares, and such things were probably common due to traumatic events, such as being orphaned perhaps.

Noticing her upset, Merlin stood up and the moment he had his back turned clamped his eyes tightly shut in distress. He shouldn’t have to make these decisions, turn people away from what was so clearly inside them just because destiny and fate deemed it could not be. Blinking rapidly, he silently let the held breath escape his lips and wiped his eyes quickly. Before guilt could devour him, he sprang into action and searched the clearing. He was doing the right thing. And these Fruten bites had no doubt helped to awaken what was inside her.

“The Fruten,” he began, kneeling down in the grass. “they are _pesky_ things. I remember being bitten when I was younger, _gosh_ the things I dreamt that night-“ his words escaped him as he glanced back at the woman who smiled weakly. Picking up the herbs from the ground, he strode back towards her.

“The scent of this particular plant should fend off any Fruten that manage to get into your room, but beware the effects of your recent bites could last up to a few more nights.”

Taking the heather-scented herbs from Merlin’s hands, Morgana nodded silently and then unexpectedly reached out and drew her arms around him. Returning the embrace, startled, Merlin grimaced.

“Thank you Merlin.” She whispered as she released him.

Sheepishly he smiled back at the beautiful woman. He recalled the incident back in Ealdor momentarily and shot her a bashful look.

“I suppose I owe you an apology for earlier. I didn’t mean to be hostile; it’s just the _clan_.” He frowned, sometimes the Elders demonstrated behaviour that defied the peaceful aura they were assumed to posses. “They don’t-”

“-You owe me nothing Merlin. It is I who owe you.” She replied, her smiles finally began to reach her eyes.

Scratching the back of his head, Merlin audibly grumbled. Life seemed to be a character of dark humour and ironic jokes only itself could laugh at. Part of him wondered why it chose to taunt him further.

“I wish you could stay,” he said earnestly, the tone of his voice drenched in poignancy. The thought of the raven-haired woman joining Arthur, Lance and Gwaine in their daily life instigated a raw smile. He had heard many times from Arthur how the pair bickered, much like he and Arthur did. Watching the blonde man get beaten in a verbal duel by somebody other than himself would be hilarious. Besides, Gwenevere did not exactly get on with most of the females in the clan – some of them were particularly notorious for being fussy with choosing their friends- aside from the rather pallid Prouna. Unable to control his sudden swell of happiness, Merlin turned to her.

“Gwen would _love_ to have someone like you around.” _Will would have too,_ he did not say aloud, unsure if she would understand the humour embedded behind the words.

For a moment, Morgana was foolish to allow herself to imagine what life in Ealdor would be like, and then she detached herself from these thoughts solemnly.

“I guess some things are not meant to be.”

At that moment, Arthur emerged from the darkness; the once red sphere in his palms had melted into a hypnotic honey-gold colour. As it gained exposure to the moonlight, it gently waned into tiny particles amongst the air. Gazing upon the pair that remained sat by the tree trunk, Merlin was crouched close towards her, Arthur continued forwards. Averting his eyes from Morgana, the druid watched the blonde man walk towards them. When Arthur was not greeted with the expected annoyance from Merlin for yet again disobeying his orders, he hovered over the pair and awaited either of them to speak. Pulling himself away from the woman’s proximity, Merlin plastered a gentle smile onto his lips, not wanting to cause any worry to Arthur. Morgana followed swiftly and glanced up at the man.

“Everything okay?” Arthur asked, eyes latched onto Morgana’s.

Nodding, the woman got to her feet, clutching the herbs by her side. A relieved smile framed Arthur’s lips, eyes instantly drained of their concern. He knew Merlin would be able to console her- there appeared to be nothing he couldn’t do. But then again, he was the mighty _Emrys,_ practically a demi-god. He shot a coy glance at Merlin who was gazing at Morgana with unreadable, glassy eyes. The exhaustion embedded in the sapphire irises however was very much noticeable. With knowledge of Merlin’s rather busy schedule tomorrow, Arthur swiftly pulled out his teleporting device. Noting the device in his hands, Morgana pulled Merlin into a hug once more. Shuffling uncomfortably, Arthur tried to pretend the pang in his gut was non-existent.

“I…I’ll…” the woman frowned, her face inched close to Merlin’s.

“We’ll meet again.” Merlin assured her kindly.

Surprised at their intimacy, Arthur glanced between them cautiously, yet again waving that ridiculous _thing_ wreaking havoc in his body and emotions away. It didn’t listen to him; it only grew like a dangerous green monster when Merlin placed a soft kiss to her cheek. He was too obsessed with trying to rid himself of this _thing_ to notice the druid was now standing in front of him. The playful voice broke him out of his mental battle.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance _we_ could have a hug?” Merlin teased with a grin, causing Arthur to recoil from the outstretched arms and raise his eyebrows at the man. His apathetic response contradicted the blush that dusted his cheeks. Merlin feigned hurt, pouting mockingly, Arthur laughed good-heartedly. It was a laugh Morgana had not heard for _years._ Yet it came so naturally to him. To say she was surprised was an understatement.

“Always the _idiot_ Merlin.”

“At least I’m not an arrogant, supercilious- _”_

Arthur’s eyes widened in mock awe at the word.

“-Aha! Careful Merlin we wouldn’t want your _teeny-tiny_ brain to _over exert_ itself-“

“-Oh hush you glorified prat.”

Morgana watched Arthur’s features soften almost _fondly,_ as he punched Merlin’s arm and sent the druid sprawling backwards a little. The gesture merely widened Merlin’s toothy grin. As the silence hung between the pair, and Arthur _knew_ he had an apology to make but was too damn proud to give Morgana the satisfaction of hearing him do so, he changed the subject rapidly.

“Well I’ll see _you,_ ” he began lightly. “Bright and early tomorrow.” He said.

“I guess so.” Merlin replied with a casual shrug, mischief glinting behind those juvenile eyes for a second.

Neither of them moved for a second, and Arthur realised he should probably just teleport himself away before he humiliated himself any further in front of _her._ He strode quickly towards her. She glanced from Merlin who sat on the trunk, to the blonde man slowly. For the first time in a few days, she felt parts of herself returning to her. An uncontrollable trace of a faint smirk framed her lips; only Arthur noticed it, fully aware of her deviant ways.

“What?” he snapped peevishly whilst grabbing her hand.

Shaking her head resignedly, she successfully suppressed her sudden delight.

“Nothing.”

Arthur pressed the teleporting device and the pair of them vanished from the clearing in a matter of seconds. The grin on Merlin’s face withered into a troubled stern line. He sat there for a few minutes, the waves of his mind rolled over Morgana’s words and what she had seem in her nightmares, hauling them in and then thrusting them back out in a motion similar to the tides of the East. He could not deny that her visions had matched parts of his own, and her powers were raw, _rare_ even. Part of him wondered how she would react to reading the Crystals. The truism of the matter slapped him over the face finally, scolding him for his lies and treachery. He brushed a hand over his sore cheek as his stood, making his way back towards Ealdor at a contemplative pace.

Morgana had magic.

But it was even deeper than that; she was blessed with a _special_ gift.

Morgana was a seer. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shameless filler chapter - but nonetheless important events happen here. I try to make my fillers significant! Enjoy this one (actually one of my fav parts to write).

The brilliant sunlight beginning to burst over the horizon accentuated the handsome features of Arthur Pendragon’s face. The gentle golden light deceived Merlin’s eyes, almost acting as a divine glow around his skin. Picking up a fallen branch from the woodland floor, Arthur added it to the pile in his arms.

“Thank you for your help last night. Morgana slept sound, and appears to be recovering.” He hummed rather contentedly, causing Merlin to flinch at the words. He had hardly helped; more like designed an elaborate cover up.

Tossing a few stranded sticks to his pile, Arthur continued to talk, blissfully unaware Merlin had grinded to an abrupt halt.

“ _Already_ she’s back to poking fun at me. You should have heard what she said to me-“

“-Morgana has magic Arthur.”

The substantial pile of wood fell from Arthur’s arms, his mouth agape. He could have sworn Merlin had just said Morgana had _magic._ But according to _Morgana,_ Merlin had told her the ferocious bites on her arms had instigated the delusional nightmares. Narrowing his eyes at the druid, the blonde watched Merlin purse his lips together in a troubled manner. At a predatory pace, Arthur walked towards the motionless figure whose face was pale, eyes wide and impassive. Reaching Merlin’s side, he failed to connect their eyes.

“Are you…sure of this?”

After a slight pause, Merlin nodded and felt words rush past his lips. He had never been good at keeping secrets. Somehow it had become harder to do so in the presence of Arthur Pendragon.

“I felt it as soon as she arrived.”

Comprehension flashed before Arthur’s eyes and he turned darkly to the druid.

“ _That’s_ why you were so keen to leave Ealdor. Not only because of the Elders or my broken pledge to keep people out, but because they would be able to senseher magic!”

“She has the gift of prophecy-“

Merlin took a step backwards warily as Arthur leant forwards into his personal space, face menacing.

“-Instead of telling her the truth you _lied!”_ he exclaimed indignantly, hurt flashing over his face for a moment as if he foolishly had assumed Merlin would be incapable of lying and was one of the rare few above it. Averting his gaze to the floor, the raven-haired man sighed audibly.

“You fed her an elaborate lie about a freaking bug that causes _nightmares_ to try and pacify her-“

“-That’s not a lie. The Fruten do cause such effects.” Arthur could sense the ‘but’ hovering in the air. It arrived swiftly.

“Just not to the extent I made out.”

Throwing his arms into the air, Arthur hastily turned his back on Merlin, pacing back and forth like an antagonised lion ready to pounce. Holding a hand to the bridge of his nose, he tired to control the anger bottling up inside of his body. His whole skin was burning with rage. Suddenly he stopped pacing and practically jumped towards Merlin.

“What about the antidote you gave her - is that even _real?!”_ he failed to care that his voice was now echoing around the forest, nor that it caused some level of anxiety to Merlin. Part of him knew he was being a bit of a hypocrite, for he too was withholding a secret of far greater importance. Nonetheless, the genuine _disappointment_ he felt at Merlin’s actions seeped through his eyes.

“…the antidote,” Merlin coughed, throwing his eyes anywhere but Arthur’s seething complexion. “It’s a regular plant induced with my magic-”

“-I can’t believe! I ca… _you!”_ Arthur gasped, words muffled slightly. “Of _all_ people …capable of something like _this-_ “

It was Merlin’s turn to unleash his own irritation. As usual, this prat failed to grasp the burden placed upon his shoulders, the choices he had to make. It was not just in the interests of one person, his decisions had to encompass the whole of _Albion._ He was _Emrys._ He wasn’t going to let Arthur Pendragon – _son_ of the man who condemned his kind – belittle him.

“-Do you think I _enjoyed_ lying to her? Because actually, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done-”

Arthur scoffed; Merlin continued.

“-It’s best that she doesn’t know of her powers.”

“Who the fuck are you to decide that?!” Arthur said vehemently, kicking a branch on the ground viciously, causing it to roll several metres forwards. He half expected Merlin to say ‘Emrys’. Instead, Merlin frowned solemnly. Arthur would never understand this matter. He would never be able to see that what Merlin had done was in fact _kind_ and humane, and in Morgana’s best interests.

“Seeing the future can destroy who you are. It can _change_ you from the inside.” He explained vaguely, not willing to go into any more depth.

Arthur felt his anger fizzle away and instead feel it be replaced by inquisitiveness. There was a personal tone embedded in the words, one that could simply not be neglected.

“You say that as if you’ve had your fair share of it yourself.” He tested the waters, and received a dark chuckle in return.

Shaking his head, Merlin turned his head away for a second. Once again Arthur found himself discovering that there was _so much_ to Merlin he still didn’t know. Having unsheathed one layer merely revealed another one that was just as well barricaded and even more enigmatic. Letting the laughter fade, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes.

“I suggest you continue to let her think the nightmares were the result of the Fruten.”

“Merlin, that’s not _fair-”_

“-Fair is not what matters right now. She is _safe_ Arthur.” His eyes frosted over with compassion, praying the blonde would finally understand his reasoning for this on the little knowledge Merlin had supplied him. However, the man frowned. It was obvious he was unable to fully grasp the situation. Breathing deeply, Merlin spoke in a tone signifying wisdom.

“You know better than anyone your father’s views on magic.” Arthur’s eyes widened at the suggestion behind those words, but remained silenced.

“And you know what your father did when he found out his oldest friend was a sorcerer.” Gaius; the name was left unspoken to hang in the air dejectedly. The way Merlin fragmented these statements between laboured pauses simply added more weight to them, unnerving Arthur.

“The fact that you haven’t revealed to him that you’ve been using magic here in Ealdor just proves how far his influence carries.” Arthur yet again found himself speechless as to how Merlin seemed to know so much he had not voiced.

“If Morgana were to know of her powers, it would leave her trapped in the worst possible place to have magic-”

“-I’d bring her here.” Arthur foolishly replied, conscious that this would not be possible when thinking about it realistically.

“-I wish that could be, but it can’t.” Merlin frowned. “Arthur you said so yourself only a handful of you are granted access to wander outside the base, and you are aware of how the clan feel about uninvited guests to Ealdor…”

Raking a hand through his golden hair, Arthur let out a huff of defeat. All of Merlin’s points were valid and all centred on protecting the closest thing to a sister Arthur had.

“How long?” he asked. _I don’t think I can keep any more secrets_ he thought to himself solemnly.

“Until the time is right. Trust me on this Arthur.”

The rest of day, there was evident tension between them. It draped over their shoulders, stinging their eyes and bruising their skin. Nonetheless, it wasn’t enough to stop Arthur from calling Merlin an _idiot,_ or for Merlin to laugh when Arthur clumsily dropped all the wood in his hands after tripping on a root.

For today, they both decided it would have to be enough.

**♦☼♦**

“I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Arthur confessed later that day, when the moon had just started its reign of the dark sky. Merlin walked silently through the small patch of bioluminescent flowers, knowing the blonde had more to say.

“It’s just…” sighing, Arthur raked a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s _Morgana._ I’ve known her all my life. She’s like my _sister,_ family. I…I just want to look after her. I wanted to make sure she was okay.” He explained, hands brushing against the neon, glowing plant.

“Then you said you’d lied to her, that she had magic. Well I-”

“-Arthur I understand.” Merlin replied calmly. “I’d do the same in your situation.”

“But what I’m _trying_ to say is that…I know why you lied. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I want you to know I’m grateful.”

Confused, Merlin cast his eyes to the blonde.

“It’s better for her to be _safe._ ” He admitted, gazing up at the golden moon.

It truly was a beautiful evening, an enchanted evening. Particularly due to the fact the moon was _gold,_ sparkling like a giant jewel hanging in the sky. It was magnificent, breathtakingly wonderful. Merlin sat down amongst the glowing flowers. The bioluminescent petals radiated against his face. Arthur sat next to him, studying the beautiful flowers. Cocking his head to the side, Merlin ran his fingers delicately over a few of the flowers.

“This is nothing compared to Monus.” He said. “Acres and acres of beautiful flowers. They’re vibrant and a mixture of colours, all lighting up in the night.”

“Sounds…nice.” Arthur responded.

“Oh I’ve never actually _been,_ ” Merlin sheepishly replied. “Will went once...um…”

Frowning, he bowed his head. It had only been two days since his departure; it felt like it had been months already away from his best friend. And the thought that he may _never_ return…it _truly_ hurt him. He wondered if Will was missing him too, or if he was content blissfully unaware of the wreckage he’d left behind in Ealdor. Inhaling a large gulp of air, Merlin raised his head.

“Sorry, I…” he laughed nervously, attempting to keep his composure. “…it’s weird not having him around.”

Unsure what to say, Arthur simply nodded. They sat in the quiet until Merlin eventually broke out of his pensive state and decided to change the subject. Dwelling on this would not make things better, only worse.

“Next week, I’m taking a group of druids up to Mánhús.” he began. “They’re going to take the test, and find their very own Wvyern.”

Arthur tried _not_ to express his jealousy at this. But it _was_ something to be envious of. They were going to get their own _Wyvern,_ fly the skies. Twisting his lips, Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“ _Well._ Good for them.” He jeered grumpily, failing spectacularly at hiding his envy.

Merlin _giggled_ beside him, drawing his knees up to his chest. Arthur did not understand how this was _funny._ Turning to him, Arthur narrowed his eyes, a little hurt that Merlin was _giggling_ at his temper tantrum, giggling at the fact Arthur was clearly nowhere _near_ good enough to tame Wyverns yet.

“You didn’t think I was going to leave you behind did you?” Merlin asked, a toothy grin spreading over his face.

“…You want me to _watch_?” Ah. That made sense. He could watch the process; use it as a lesson for the time when eventually he _too_ would face the same thing. Well, that was if he ever did. He knew there had been great speculation as to the _extent_ Merlin should go in his lessons.

“Did you not hear what I _just said?”_ Merlin groaned in exasperation, a smile sweeping his features. When Arthur frowned, Merlin realised the prat was too caught up in self-doubt. He’d have to spell it out for him.

“You’re coming with me. Not to watch, to _take_ the test.”

“You’re being serious?” Arthur asked, unable to conceal the smile spreading over his face.

“Of course I am, dollophead.” Merlin gazed up to the golden moon. “This week I’ll talk through the procedures to you and the others. There is much to prepare, much that you need to learn in order to _survive_ this test.”

“…survive?” Arthur gulped, not liking the sound of that. It sounded like there was a chance of _death._

“It is very unusual for everyone in the group to return.” Merlin explained solemnly.

Usually, only one would be unsuccessful and perish in the battle. On occasions there would be two or three. He remembered _his_ group; it had been the worst known in Ealdor history. Balinor had taken them to Mánhús; there had been eight of them. It had been in the winter, when snow had engulfed everything. The mountain was _freezing,_ and judging by their clothing, nobody seemed to have remembered that magic was forbidden until the time you could make the bond. Merlin’s teeth had clattered the whole journey, every inch of his body screamed for him to shut his eyes and sleep. He didn’t. Mainly because Will was behind him shouting that if he didn’t move faster he was going to push Merlin off the cliff edge.

He and Will were the only one to return from his _whole group_. It had been a sad day. He still remembered the faces of the parents waiting anxiously back in Ealdor, breaking into hysterical sobs as they saw only _two_ druids walking behind Balinor. Merlin had only ever led four groups; Balinor passed the responsibility down to him when he was just Eighteen years old. Some of the people _taking_ the test were _older_ than him, and they also thought they were wiser. Merlin had watched many die. Out of all four groups, there had been at least one fatality. He knew it was not his own doing, but he still felt like their blood was on his hands.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about sending Arthur into this brutal climate. But he knew he _had_ to. It was no secret that he had been holding Arthur back for at least three weeks; unsure what else he could possibly teach him. Arthur was _destined_ for something great. All great druids knew how to fly a Wyvern.

“I’m not worried.” Arthur said out of the blue, obviously noticing Merlin was silently fretting to himself.

“I have the best teacher in Albion, _Emrys_ himself.” 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting chapter - Arthur goes to tame his Wyvern!

The Mánhús region appeared even more unwelcoming than the first time Arthur had set foot upon its soil. The narrow trail up to the Wyvern’s nest seemed to have slimmed, or at least shed a significant amount of stone since during the course of the past few months. Dark clouds hovered ominously over the plateau above. They rumbled warnings to Arthur, setting him on edge with occasional roars that really _did_ resemble a giant Dragon. Despite still being at the bottom of the mountain, he could hear the Wyverns too. Merlin stood beside him, a plain look plastered over his face, expertly masking any emotion or attachment to a particular subject. Though it would not be true to say Merlin’s eyes didn’t soften when he looked upon Arthur Pendragon.

Today, Arthur and four other young druids were going to take the test to become Riders. Beside Arthur was a slender woman with long brown hair: Zelina. Her face was soft and well-rounded, with two endearing dimples on either side of her cheeks. She had a contagious smile, as Arthur had discovered on their journey, and absorbing dark brown eyes. She was one of a rare few female subjects given the opportunity to ride a Wyvern. Arthur had learnt in the space of ten minutes that she was exceptionally brave, headstrong and _totally_ in love with Merlin. Merlin _this,_ Merlin _that, oh_ Merlin – swoon, sigh, big anime eyes. Not that this _bothered_ him or anything. If only Merlin didn’t flash his totally _brilliant_ smile at everyone in sight and get the poor girl’s hopes up – that is, if Merlin wasn’t interested. Maybe he was? Not that it _mattered-_

-Shaking the thoughts off, Arthur sighed. Now of _all times_ was the worst possible moment to be thinking! He had to focus. The other guys seemed to have no trouble clearing their minds for the task. They also had incredibly obnoxious names: Macelis (big-boned, not a great talker, disliked Arthur), Truin (similar build to Arthur, a tad less handsome in Arthur’s opinion – indifferent to Arthur Pendragon) and Jyuna (fresh-faced, extremely young and vibrant – irritatingly egoistic). According to Merlin, Jyuna was one of the youngest druids to ever take the test.  Arthur would have burst into spontaneous congratulations if the kid didn’t have his head so far up his own arse.

Merlin had told the five of them the rules for the challenge, trying his best not to continuously draw his eyes to Arthur (he failed). No magic was to be used until the bonding process, if the druid used magic they would automatically fail the test. Thus, they had to all walk up the mountain to the plateau. Then one by one they would seek out their Wyvern and try their best to heroically tame it.

It was a dangerous, perilous challenge. Nobody could aid you in this ancient tradition. The challenge was yours alone; to tame a Wyvern and bond with it. Merlin couldn’t _help_ but feel anxious about this day. It was a rite of passage for many druids, one step closer to rebirth. People had _died_ trying to tame Wyverns; people had fallen off the plateau to their death. Some had been mercilessly hurtled off the creature’s back just _moments_ into mounting it.

Some forgot _entirely_ about the horns and were rammed through the ribs against the walls, the horns slicing through their skin with ease. It was terrifying to watch, knowing there was nothing you could do. Merlin had spent the remainder of the night awake, at the lake. He was afraid if he shut his eyes he’d see Arthur being eaten alive or fatally wounded. The Wyverns were vicious beats. But nonetheless, valuable allies in the land of Albion, and most useful for transport and defence.

The six of them had walked in single file, Zelina insisting to walk _right behind_ Merlin. She began to fire spontaneous questions at the druid, eyes _sparkling_ in admiration as he answered. Arthur rolled his eyes, about to take his place behind her. However, it seemed the three obnoxiously named men had a better idea. They pushed in front of Arthur, scraping past him before the pathway narrowed explicitly. However tempted Arthur was to push all three of these idiots off the edge, he thought better of it – especially when he noticed Merlin had turned round to locate him and shoot him a look of concern. He quickly looked away; Merlin continued walking.

Then the voice filled his head. Arthur was startled by it, mainly because Merlin was _also_ talking to Zelinda and he’d never mentioned that it was _possible_ to use both methods of communication at the _same time_ to different people. Perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be or just impossibly difficult – Merlin was one of a kind after all. Arthur mentally shielded his mind for a second, hoping Merlin didn’t manage to pluck out the complement. It seemed for now he was safe.

_You okay?_

Feeling the corners of his lips twitch upwards involuntarily, Arthur kept his eyes on the path ahead.

_Well. I’m stuck with an obsessive fangirl, three abominable jerks and a clumsy fool who’s supposed to be Emrys – what do you think?_

Arthur imagined Merlin’s eyes crinkle at the corners in response to the flippant comment. The druid’s voice was full of mirth and amusement, calming Arthur’s nerves.

_I think you forgot to include the Prat that’s about to trip over that rock if he’s not careful-_

_-Haha very fun–_ Arthur gazed down at his feet in astonishment. Merlin’s eyes were _no-where_ near him, not even _focusing_ on him. He quickly darted out of the way of the rock. It was no secret that if he had tripped on it, he would have fallen over the edge and after recovering from severe bruising, had to start the climb again.

 _You have to show me how to do that one day!_ He exclaimed, unable to conceal his amazement at Merlin’s talent.

_Impressed are you?_

He glanced ahead, dumbfounded as to how he was _still_ talking to Zelina, somehow watching Arthur and conversing with him through his mind.

… _A little._ Arthur admitted sheepishly, feeling a blush dust his cheeks. He was glad Merlin wasn’t looking his way. Although he highly doubted that mattered after his display of exceptional peripheral vision. Merlin’s next words caught him totally off-guard.

 _Have no fear for the task at hand today._ _I have faith in you Arthur – more faith in you than any of the other candidates trying to pass the test today. Just have faith in yourself._

Halting for a second, Arthur studied the back of Merlin’s head meticulously, trying to envisage the expression painted over that enigmatic face; his cheekbones gloriously chiseled by the overcast shadows, his eyes bright and endless, his smile warming. Then the _significance_ of such words washed over Arthur Pendragon. Merlin had _faith_ in him – more faith in _him_ (the outsider) than in Macelis, Truin, Jyuna and Zelina (his own kind). The reassuring words were enough to dispel the shivers threatening to plunge over his body. Instead, Arthur ploughed forwards, not retaliating to the ominous look Truin cast behind his shoulder towards him. This test was not _just_ a test of strength and valour – Arthur should have known the _depth_ to Merlin’s tests, the way the people worked by _now._ This test also revealed your character, your _heart._

The rain began to fall in small trickles at first, cascading down their skin gradually as they trekked up the mountainside. Then it became ferocious, engaging into a battalion that pelted against them, trying to steer their slippery steps off the edge, or attempting to blur their vision. Arthur noticed the look of concern stretched over Merlin’s face as they caught their breath under the rocky pass. The weather was not a factor that stopped the process – but it was not working to their advantage at all. Slowly, as his team caught their breath, Merlin studied the five students before him. A flash of lightening illuminated the area, defining each face in high contrast before fading back into a dull blur. Then the thunder roared from above menacingly, intertwined with the roars of the Wyverns; it created a truly spectacular crackle of sound.

Leaning towards the druids, Merlin lowered his voice.

“Remember all that you have been taught,” He muttered. “This will be one of the hardest challenges you have had to face.”

Casting a glance behind his shoulder at the sound of the bustling creature nest, he clasped his hands together. The rain was pouring down harder now, creating white vertical lines against the cave. Vision was heavily impaired; clothes sticking tightly to their bodies.  The small waterfall spewed water violently, unable to cope with the amount of rainfall. It created a fragile river that ran down the spine of the mountainside, dwindling into the abyss below. Arthur gazed down momentarily, now fully aware of how high they were and how dangerous the conditions were. This was _not_ going to be easy. None of the training with Merlin could _truly_ prepare him for this: fighting a _Wyvern._

Part of him was relieved that both the druid _and_ the Dragon were expected to come out of this alive as one new body of protection to the people. The thought of _accomplishing_ this, becoming a _true_ Ealden warrior and flying in the sky was exhilarating. Sure, he’d been _in_ the sky before. Sure he was _terrified_ of flying – but that wasn’t because of the _flying_ part itself, it was because he was relying heavily on something so _mechanical._ Flying on a creature, a living thing that breathed air and pumped blood through its body, was much less subjected to a crash or collision, because _two conscience_ minds were at work. Nonetheless, he still wasn’t _totally_ sure about how he would feel when he made it into the air – he grimaced, wiping a hand over his dripping face – _if._ Who’s to say he’d even make it _far_ enough to get _on_ a dragon?

Arthur was too caught up in his own thoughts to hear Truin’s masculine voice echo through the group. However, he _did_ notice the way all eyes turned to him, _especially_ the way that Merlin seemed to have been caught in a headlock with fear itself.

He understood, swallowing-hard.

He had nominated by his ‘peers’ (the chauvinistic obnoxious names) to go first.

Arthur gazed over to Merlin and met his eyes cautiously.

For a moment, time kindly decided it didn’t want to move forwards nor backwards anymore. Instead it wavered in-between, hanging in the atmosphere. It was heavy against Arthur’s body, yet refreshingly light. Then Merlin broke the gaze and gestured towards the waterfall ahead of them. Nodding in response, Arthur walked up to the wall of water. With each step he took, he could feel his heartbeat; feel the unsteady quiver in his legs. Slowly, eyes clasped shut, he passed through the water, and the sensation of cold drenched him completely. His blonde hair (now saturated with water) was matted flat against his forehead, small beads of water dripping from the hair of his eyebrows, collecting at the edge of his nose, the tip of his chin. When Merlin had passed through, he looked similar, only the water accentuated his cheekbones delicately; small drops were collected on his earlobes.

The rainfall was nothing but noise on each side of their exit, the stone above their heads a temporary shelter. Inhaling a shallow breath, Arthur crept towards the edge of the small pathway, leading to the extensive Wyvern nest. Despite the torrential rainfall, the Wyverns were collected in large masses all across the rocky plateau. Everything was shimmering hypnotically with water: their silvery scales, the jagged rocks- it was deceptively beautiful. Merlin placed a hand his hand on Arthur’s soaked shirt, muttering something. Instantaneously the shirt was dry, a newfound warmth radiating from it. When Arthur curiously reached his arm into the rain and found his shirt was wet but didn’t _feel like it was,_ he gaped. Merlin received a sceptic glare.

“You’re not supposed to use magic to help me.” He stated bluntly, sounding a little offended that Merlin thought he _required_ help but nonetheless touched by the small gesture.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Arthur. To say such a thing could result in both of us getting in a lot of trouble.” The druid replied in the same dull tone, studying the Wyverns from their hiding place impatiently.

Silence. Roars. The lightening lit up the sky magnificently, followed by rumbling thunder. Shuffling awkwardly, Merlin inched closer to the edge of their narrow spot. He subconsciously placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to pull him back as Arthur abruptly took a step forwards. Arthur remained still, even though he had the strength to wriggle out of the soft grasp.

“Be careful.” Merlin hissed, eyes locked on the Wyverns ahead. “Time is not your ally in this test, and nor is the weather. You must act quickly.”   

Absorbing Merlin’s advice quietly, Arthur chewed his lip. Of both things, Merlin was right of course. The rain had not faltered yet. Visibility was increasingly poor, and the sound of the rain distorted the human ear’s perception of proximity and sound. The longer he was out there, the harder it was going to be to complete the test.

“…How will I know a Wyvern has chosen me?” Arthur asked.

A wistful smile crawled onto Merlin’s face.

“It will try to kill you.”

The storm raged again. Lightening flashed. The second time it flashed, Arthur was out of Merlin’s reach, steadily climbing up onto the plateau. Swiftly, the druid followed, pelted by prickly rain the moment he stepped from the shelter. To say Merlin felt _helpless_ would have been an understatement. Arthur was alone now; there was nothing else he could do to aid the young man with this.

The Wyverns were pretty unresponsive, almost _apathetic_ towards Arthur’s entrance. As he took his first step across the nesting ground, breath ragged and heart racing, he noticed a vast majority of the creatures had retreated back from him. A few took to the sky. The pouring rain had two dismal disadvantages that Arthur could not have possibly foreseen; the scales of the Wyvern blended almost perfectly with the rocky terrain, and also the exposed plateau made it susceptible to the gusty winds forged in the storm. And with the grey clouds hovering across the sky, it was difficult to decipher what was dragon, what was _sky_ and what was land. The further he walked through the nest, the worse his vision became. Panic swept through his system, choking him.

He couldn’t see _a thing._

The sound of jaws snapping caused him to abruptly turn to his left. He steered his body too far to the left, the wind carelessly shoving him to the ground. Merlin lurched forwards instinctively, clearly seeing something Arthur didn’t. Arthur barely had enough time to see it himself. His eyes caught the sight of _claws._ Without hesitation, he leapt back onto his feet, mentally cursing the slippery surface beneath his feet. Fortunately, his first slip maneuvered him out of the way of those sharp claws and dangerously large teeth. This was it, this was the Wyvern! It had to be. The sound of wings overpowered his hearing. He turned to where the creature had been, a pang in building in his chest as he established it had flown away.

Standing still and _thinking_ proved to be a horrible idea. Arthur was far enough into the nest now to be ambushed by just about _any_ dragon that decided Arthur Pendragon would make a far better meal than their future destiny. He shielded his head, narrowly missing the claws that scraped against his arms in the air. The wind stirred, scrabbling against him to tug him deeper into the lair. The first blow to his shoulder was more shock than pain. Arthur fell to the ground, groggily, water pummeling against him. The weight of the water was overwhelming, draining his body of all energy. As he opened his eyes and regained is breath, he saw those blood-red eyes looming closer. Merlin etched closer to the scene anxiously.

“Arthur!”

Arthur rolled to his right, scrambling up to his feet. The grogginess left at the sound of that voice. Merlin. The Wyvern landed with a thud, inches from where his face had once been. It was a large Wyvern, a little bigger than average. Its horns were fully-grown, protruding threateningly from its forehead. The Wyvern bowed it head, revealing the impressive display of coils and curls the horns bared. Arthur took a step backwards wisely, adrenaline pumping through him. The dragon had not made its intentions clear yet. It was loitering, diverting his attention from the other potential threats around.

Until it broke the stalemate, there was no way of knowing if it was the right Wyvern.

His question was answered as _another_ Wyvern landed behind him.

This one was much younger, stealthier than the first. It’s horns were mere stubs on its head. He jumped out of the way hastily, flinching at the sound of the jaw closing with extreme force. The first Wyvern launched itself onto the newcomer sadistically. Arthur cast Merlin a hesitant glance. Was it usual for Wyverns to fight over a rider? ….or were they fighting over _prey?_ The look on Merlin’s face suggested the former. The younger Wyvern roared ominously, darting towards Arthur. It was _too fast._ There was no way Arthur could even comprehend dodging the attack.

The older Wyvern appeared out of nowhere, shoving the younger one brutally – mere seconds from collision with Arthur. The younger Wyvern reluctantly hoisted itself into the air, deciding to give up on its pursuit. The older Wyvern studied Arthur for a moment. Arthur foolishly thought perhaps he had some kind of _dragon-power_ that could stop them from attacking as he discovered the dragon was not moving. And then – as the gust of wind swept over the plateau – it _was_ moving. It clutched Arthur by the shirt, raising him a few feet into the air. This was the Wyvern; Arthur _knew_ it had to be because the fucking bastard was going to drop him down back onto the rocks in an attempt to smash him up. It was _definitely_ trying to kill him.

Clambering over the rocks, Merlin gazed up into the air, distraught. He’d seen Wyverns do this before. This Wyvern was _tough-_ one of the toughest he’d witnessed. The creature released its grip on Arthur, dropping him back onto the ground with a loud thud. Wincing, the blonde dragged his body back up. He pretended he _didn’t_ hear something crack. There was no time to dwell in pain; the Wyvern was already back on the ground, pouncing towards him. Arthur didn’t waste time. He ran aimlessly through the Wyvern nest. He felt the claws scrape against his shirt, causing him to duck lower. Merlin was less than a few metres behind him, close enough to be mauled and cast aside by the Wyvern chasing Arthur. He didn’t seem to care. Merlin dodged the swinging of its tail effortlessly, gazing around blindly for Arthur. The visibility was getting worse.

“Arthur!” he yelled, voice barely resonating through the rain. “ _Make_ the bond!”

The Wyvern bared its horns at Arthur and the man took his chances bravely. He lunged at the creature, using the horns as a means to climb onto the scaly skin. Immediately the Wyvern shook its head viciously, claws reaching to scratch off Arthur and pin him to the ground. Arthur weaved out of the way, landing on the creature’s back. Straddling it, he clutched the horns for support. The Wyvern began to buck its legs, attempting to shake the man off its back. Clinging on tightly, Arthur clamped his eyes shut. Water was stinging his skin, disabling the ability to use his sense efficiently. By the time he opened his eyes again to retain focus, he’d realised his hands had let go of the slippery horns.

With the next aggressive motion, the Wyvern ruthlessly pushed Arthur off its back. Arthur felt his body chaotically moving, unable to stop the course of nature. The wind pushed him further. Merlin watched the scene unravel in horror, eyes wide. The fall had been so full of momentum it had shoved Arthur in a perilous direction.

Arthur Pendragon had fallen off the cliff edge.

“Arthur! _NO!”_ Merlin screamed.

This couldn’t happen, this _wouldn’t_ happen. Damn the laws. Arthur Pendragon was _not_ going to die here, not after _everything_ he’d done. Resolutely, Merlin rushed forwards – fire burnishing in his eyes. The Wyvern pushed him back. It hissed intimidatingly, warning Merlin not to come any closer. It began to saunter towards the cliff edge. Merlin raised his palm, ready to conjure a spell and blow the damn thing to the edge of Albion. Yes, it would be disobeying, yes if Arthur was still alive he would not pass. _If._ Arthur could be _dead!_

That was _more_ than enough justification to violate the law and use magic in the test. His life was far more important than pride–

- _Don’t you fucking dare try to avenge me or do something stupid to get me eliminated, Emrys! I’m still alive._

The voice flew through Merlin’s mind. He lowered his hand obediently, _reluctantly._ Hearing the voice wasn’t enough. Urgently, he searched for the source of the voice. Then he saw it: that blonde tuft of hair rising slowly from the side of the cliff edge. He had obviously climbed along the side of the cliff, because he managed to crawl back up metres from where the Wyvern was tearing apart stone. Swiftly, Arthur jumped back onto the Wyvern, taking it completely by surprise. At first the creature did nothing but stop digging, alarmed by the intrusion. Then it started to thrash wildly again, this time so close to the edge that there was _no way_ Arthur would survive if he was thrown off this time. He had to make the bond, and _fast._

“MAKE THE BOND NOW ARTHUR.” Merlin yelled, fumbling closer anxiously, rain splashing over his face.

Arthur had never been good at those rodeo things at parties or amusement parks, but _damn –_ he was pretty good at this. His hands had wound themselves securely around the coiled horns, legs digging into each side of the creature for support. Every single muscle was toiling against being thrown off, fighting to _stay._ The bond. He had to make the bond.

“Á Sehte.” He whispered, eyes flashing silver for a moment.

Nothing seemed to happen. The creature continued its assault, shaking its body savagely. Clutching tighter, Arthur raised his voice confidently. Merlin had gone over this a hundred times with him (or more). This was the _easy_ part.

“ _Á_ _Sehte,_ _ælwiht_!” At these words the creature seemed to still.

Merlin smiled in relief, holding a hand to his throbbing temple. The Wyvern bowed its head, this time in a less wary manner. Any indication of violence towards Arthur ceased. In this moment, it respected the human who had overcome its defences, battled it. Albion _herself_ seemed to be impressed with this display of courage. The rain had stopped, slits of sunlight bursting majestically through the holes in the cloud. One ray shone valiantly down upon the Wyvern and Arthur, lighting them up dramatically. Arthur allowed the burst of nervous laughter to escape his lips. He was sitting on a Wyvern, _his_ Wyvern. Merlin met his eyes, admiration and affection seeping from his eyes. He gently steered the Wyvern towards the edge, raising his eyebrows towards Arthur.

“You need to fly now,” he said with a proud smile. “To fully seal the bond. _Go!”_

“How do I-?”

“-Think _fly!”_ Merlin snapped petulantly, clearly a little concerned that the bond would wear off before fully sealing.

_Fly-_

-Instantly the Wyvern spread out its wings and fell into the sky. Arthur was unable to contain the surprised yelp as the creature plummeted down, bending nauseously through the air. It weaved skillfully, spinning through the clouds. Arthur didn’t have _time_ to process he was flying – or that he was terrified. He clung on tighter, panicking as the Wyvern deliberately smacked against the side of the mountain. It was trying to shake him off. As it did an elaborate spin in the air, Arthur gripped the horns tighter and rolled his eyes.

“Stop being difficult and fly straight!” he barked, not expecting the creature to actually _listen_ to him.

All of a sudden, they were _gliding_ elegantly. There was a balance between the air and themselves. The breeze lightly swept through his damp hair, refreshing against his skin. His Wyvern danced between the slits of sunlight, theatrical spotlights of the natural world. Hesitantly, Arthur released his grip on the horns, outstretching his arms. The dragon was floating in the air steadily, allowing him to maintain his balance. Laughter burst from his mouth, full of elation and awe. He was _flying!_ He could see _everything_ from up here. The forest of Ealdor, the vast landscape of Albion. It was all underneath him, magnificent and staggering. A shadow passed over their heads. Clinging back onto the horns, Arthur gazed up to see another Wyvern. It lowered beside them, revealing its happy rider; Merlin.

Their Wyverns flew through the air at a faster velocity, drawing a nervous shriek from Arthur. Merlin was laughing the whole time, studying Arthur’s movements. The flight was exhilarating; the wind bit his face, the surrounding areas were blurred. All Arthur could latch onto was the dark horizon and the vast beauty of the world. As they landed on the edge of Mánhús, Merlin smiled gently. From the narrow passageway, the four other druids emerged, all shocked at the sight. Arthur Pendragon had _tamed_ a Wyvern, he had passed a test. Zelina focused her attention on the blonde, eyes wide. Truin merely scoffed, pretending he wasn’t impressed. Merlin was too relieved to dispel the smile form his face. He approached the other druids slowly debating between them who was to go next.

Arthur watched the others battle their chosen Wyverns and eventually manage to claim their own dragon. All succeeded, as expected. Though it was not hard to see that Arthur’s Wyvern was the most ferocious, and most difficult to tame of them all. He sat beside his own the whole time, petting its scaly skin soothingly each time it stirred. The creature nuzzled into his shoulder, breath fanning Arthur’s neck. He watched Merlin talk to the four druids continuously waving his hand between their Wyvern the sky. He wondered if this was something important, something that he should probably listen to as well. Merlin walked over to the pair, bowing his head to avoid eye contact with Arthur’s Wyvern.

“What are you going to call your sky companion?” he asked, raising his head once he was sure the Wyvern was not going to attack.

Turning to the dragon, studying its face, Arthur smiled.

“Bregurófne- my majestic, mighty friend.”

Merlin nodded in agreement at the name, summoning his own Wyvern. It’s scale were a much lighter shade of grey, almost white. It’s eyes were more magenta then red like Bregurófne’s, and it was a little smaller than Arthur’s creature.

“What’s he called?” Arthur gestured to Merlin’s Wyvern curiously. He had met it before, many months ago on one of his first lessons.

“ _She.”_ Merlin corrected with a grin. “Her name is Léohte. It means luminous and bright, her scales never fail to reflect the light beautifully.”

Mounting Léohte, Merlin steered it to the cliff edge. Arthur took this gesture to mean they were leaving. He leapt onto Bregurófne’s back, commanding it to walk towards Léohte. Merlin glanced over at him and frowned.

“Make sure you keep your distance when taking off Arthur. You must not forget that a Wyvern needs space for its wings.” He explained.

Obediently, Arthur whispered for his Wyvern to take a few paces away. Jyuna, Zelina, Truin and Macelis seemed far more at ease with ordering their Wyverns. Arthur pretended it didn’t bother him that when Merlin told them to take off, he was the only one incapable of connecting to his creature’s mind and had to speak the command aloud. They flew over the vast region, Ealdor and the Crystal Cave in sight along the horizon. Arthur grinned. If Morgana could see him now, riding a Wyvern!

He couldn’t _wait_ to see the look on Gwaine’s face when they landed in Ealdor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: 
> 
> Mánhús – Place of Wicked Hell.  
> Sehte – To bring about an arrangement between to powers.  
> Ælwiht – a rather derogatory name for the Dragons, meaning ‘strange creature/monster’. Arthur uses it in desperation.  
> Bregurófne – Arthur’s Wyvern. The word means ‘majestic and mighty’.  
> Léohte – Merlin’s Wyvern. The word means ‘luminous light’.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're seriously still only half-way through the story - I've written this like a book so the chapters are readable lengths. But I have no idea how many chapters there will be!
> 
> I think I'm going to upload this again in "PARTS" so each part is about 20,000 words or more to avoid the mass of chapters. I'll probably add "PART 1" soon. I think it'll make it easier to read if it's collected in "BOOKS" an in each part are a collection of chapters... what do you think?
> 
> Anyway - enjoy this one. This is one of my fav chaps so far! BIG MOMENT FOR ARTHUR :D

They landed on the outskirts of Ealdor, in the highest branch of the tallest tree. Wyverns were easily startled, easily provoked. They did not behave well in great crowds of people, nor in druid settlements. This was why they could only be your sky companions, and nothing else. Merlin had told Arthur a great story, of a man who had once lived alongside his Wyvern, taking it everywhere he went. Arthur guessed the story had a tragic end, because Merlin’s eyes became distant, and his words faded into silence long before finishing. Arthur bid his goodbye to Bregurófne, patting its head gently. The Wyvern bowed its head towards its rider. Then he majestically claimed the skies alongside Léohte and the other Wyverns.

It was only now Arthur discovered that the wounds Bregurófne had inflicted upon him were quite severe. Trying to climb down the tree was horrific, and he clamped his eyes shut the moment pressure was put on his arm. Merlin rushed to his side, grimacing. Arthur instantly knew the emotion in his eyes, _guilt._ Of course Merlin would feel responsible for this, even though there was _no way_ any of this could be. The other druids clambered down the tree effortlessly, no doubt preparing to unite with their families and retell their success stories. Arthur inhaled a deep breath of frustration, throwing his head back against the tree. Merlin leant towards him, lifting the shirt hesitantly. For a moment he removed his hands and frowned.

“I’ll call for Gwen to bring supplies up here. There’s no way you can make it down the tree yet.”

“…teleport me down?” Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows at Merlin to gesture he was an _idiot_ for forgetting they were in a magical land.

Merlin scoffed at the proposal.

“In your condition, absolutely _not!”_ he narrowed his eyes doubtfully. _“_ Did you even _listen_ to the lecture my father gave on teleporting safety last month?” Arthur offered him a blind, vacant look. Merlin elaborated, assuming maybe he was being too vague.

“ _Firstly,_ you can’t just teleport yourself anywhere – there are certain boundary restrictions. Nor can you teleport _everywhere._ You will get lazy and so will your magic. Teleporting you to the clan less than a _minute_ away is just unnecessary.”

Arthur bit his lip, wondering if he should tell Merlin how many times he’d teleported himself the space of a few metres to creep up on Gwaine or spook him.

“Secondly, you should not teleport via magic when injured or with an injured passenger unless in _extreme_ circumstances like in a case of life or death. It not only risks the chance of internal bleeding but can induce comas due to the sudden exertion of physical and mental strength you probably don’t have.”

The monotonous, ambiguous hum suggested Arthur Pendragon had not listened to Balinor’s words. Rolling his eyes, Merlin shot him a pointed look.

“Of course you didn’t listen, you don’t listen to anyone- _prat_.”

“I listen to you.” Arthur automatically responded, cheeks flushing as he processed his words.

Raising his eyebrows with a grin, Merlin titled his head mockingly. His eyes never left the wounds on the blonde’s shoulder, but Arthur knew he was slightly stunned by the complement.

“Heaven knows _why_.” He quickly added, wincing as Merlin prodded a particularly nasty gash on his forearm.

Choosing to ignore the flippant comment, Merlin met his eyes. Sitting up a little, Arthur pursed his lips together. Merlin was giving him this look, this intense, deep look he couldn’t work out or decipher.

“…what?” he asked, wondering what Merlin was thinking about.

“Take off your shirt-”

“- _Excuse me?!”_

Merlin laughed at Arthur’s horrified expression, holding his hands up by his sides in a mock-gesture of ‘I come in peace’. Arthur was not amused.

 

“I need to ensure all your wounds are cleansed, it’ll give Gwen less to do.”

Reluctantly, Arthur pulled the shirt from his head, holding it over his chest for a moment like a shy girl. He had no idea why on earth he felt vulnerable, _exposed._ Merlin took the shirt from his hand and placed it on the tree, revealing the impressive toned torso.

“You know,” Merlin began, fingers gently touching a small graze on his chest. Arthur’s body hummed with Merlin’s magic, relaxing him greatly. “You were really brave out there today, _really-_ ”

“-Careful Merlin,” Arthur said, voice low and lips upturned. “You’re starting to sound like _Zelina-”_

“-Are you incapable of having a serious conversation?” Merlin stammered, removing his hands from Arthur’s wounds for a moment, a dubious look on his face.

“No, of course not.” Arthur snapped, studying the druid in front of him. That pacified Merlin. “It’s just more fun winding you up.”  That _didn’t._

“ _Fine.”_ Merlin said through gritted teeth, being sure to prod the wound on his collarbone a little too hard. “I _was_ going to congratulate you.”

Arthur noticed the small smile on Merlin’s lips. He knew what he meant, that basically was code for: I’m congratulating you. Feigning ignorance, Arthur leant back, eyes shut. He waited for Merlin’s voice to sooth his ears.

“I was going to tell you, that today…” swallowing-hard, Merlin averted his eyes and went back to studying Arthur’s wounds. There was something in that voice: glee, unfathomable glee. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulder, looking into his eyes imploringly. Merlin continued coyly, not giving anything away.

“You have proved your courage and strength today.” Pause. “Now I see what you are, who you _really_ are. You’re loyal; you’re brave and headstrong. Some would say this shows weakness, I say it shows strength.” Arthur softened his gaze, mouth agape slightly. “You’re noble, and I believe if the time came you would fight for what you thought was right. You are compassionate and kind; you have embraced Albion and it’s creatures. You are accepting and inquisitive, you have learnt to live alongside people different to your own. And despite the prejudice your kind have against us, you have proven yourself to be more like one of us than many.”

Lifting his head, Merlin smiled, eyes animated and full of excitement.

“You’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” Arthur asked curiously, taken-aback by Merlin’s words and his wise, _Emrys_ demeanour. Merlin wasn’t talking like _Merlin._ He was talking like a wise man who had lived for centuries, knowledgeable and full of intellect (well hidden intellect mind you.)

“Eftboren.”

Eyes widened, Arthur leant towards Merlin intently. _Eftboren._ Merlin had spoken of this many times. It meant _rebirth,_ describing the ceremony where a druid had proved all their virtues and were accepted into the clan, reborn as one of the people. Eftboren was not taken lightly; it was a holy ceremony- a _special_ ceremony. Not _everyone_ was reborn. Merlin had told him the terrible tales of other clans far away. Some druids had only been born once in the South, and were _still_ striving for acceptance amongst their clans. But in Ealdor, everyone had to right to be reborn; they just had to _prove_ it first.

Thinking back on the past four months here, Arthur knew he had done _more_ than the average druid would need to do to be accepted. He’d walked the Perilous lands, found Trident of the Fisher King, learned their language and conventions, tamed a Wyvern. Nervously, he gazed into Merlin’s resolute eyes.

“…I need Balinor’s consent, the Elders approval - the _people’s_ approval -Merlin.” He whispered, insecurity hurtling through his body, _panic._ Just because _Merlin_ thought he was ready did not mean everyone else did. His panic was poorly concealed, Merlin noticed it right away and practically _growled._

“Arthur,” Merlin leant forwards fiercely because Arthur _always_ was so damn insecure and he didn’t need to be. “You already have their approval. I asked a long time ago, not one druid refused.”

Laughing incredulously at the words, Arthur held a hand to his head in shock. _Oh._ Realisation swathed over him.

“There’s only _one_ person left who needs to approve of this.” Merlin smiled warmly at him. “ _You._ ”

 Arthur was too enthusiastic, too overwhelmed to fully comprehend the magnitude of the event that had just been prophisised. He was going to become a _druid-_ he was going to be part of the people! _For real._ He threw his head back and allowed seams of laughter to erupt. Merlin did the same, eyes crinkled and hand held to the corner of his mouth. Neither of them had noticed Gwen had just made it to the top of the tree until a few moments later. She sensed the enjoyment in the air and turned to Merlin questioningly.

“Gwen,” Merlin greeted her with a wide smile as she crouched next to him to examine Arthur’s wounds. “We were just talking about Arthur’s Eftboren.”

His tone was so casual and deceptive that for a second Gwen simply nodded mechanically and forced a smile, too focused on the wounds. Then she took in the words and dramatically dropped the cloth in her hands. Cupping her mouth, eyes wide, she glanced between the two men. Arthur was….he was _finally_ having his Eftboren! He would be one of them, _properly._ She wrapped her arms around Arthur, smiling softly into his neck.

“Congratulations Arthur.” She said sincerely, going back to studying his wounds.

Merlin got to his feet abruptly, gaining both of their attention for a moment. Feebly he raised a hand, eyes drifting towards Arthur impulsively.

“Well, I’ve got some errands to run.” He explained.

Arthur rolled his eyes as he watched Merlin teleport himself down to the bottom of the tree and walk into the distance.

 _I thought you said teleporting short distance was unnecessary and made your magic lazy._ Arthur snapped in his mind, gazing down at the figure who stopped walking for a second.

 _Well, I’m different. I’m Emrys._ Merlin’s light-hearted, cheerful tone blasted through his mind.

Arthur chuckled, earning a confused glance from Gwen.

_You may well be but you’re also a fucking hypocrite!_

**♦☼♦**

Freya and the clan had welcomed William with open arms into their home when he had arrived at sunset. The raven-haired woman planted a soft kiss to his lips, eyes twinkling with concern as his eyes failed to meet her own. Serepolis was beautiful, but it simply didn’t compare with Ealdor. Its trees were less spectacular, the bark decaying around the trunks. The surroundings seemed dull, the sunlight failing to fully reach the tips of the settlement during the day. The nights were colder, biting his fingers. There was no Crystal Cave, no Arthur Pendragon, no Merlin. Frowning, he gazed out into the horizon pensively. He wondered what Merlin was doing now, _probably_ spending every waking hour with that idiot Arthur Pendragon. He barely noticed that Freya had perched beside him.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She admitted, resting her head against his shoulder gently. Inhaling a deep breath, Will wrapped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

“Me too.” He mumbled, sounding unconvincing, voice lacking substance.

Gazing up at him with a sad smile, Freya sighed.

“You know I can see right through your little act,” the man beside her stilled, glancing down at her in confusion. “You miss Merlin.”

Clasping her hand tightly, Will smiled.

“I’m _happy_ here, with you.”

Freya squeezed his hand comfortingly, nuzzling closer towards him.

“Okay,” she mumbled against his neck. “So long as you realise you can’t run from it forever Will.”

Swallowing-hard, Will averted his eyes to the horizon. He knew what she meant by these words: Arthur Pendragon. He was the instigator of the painful memories that destroyed his childhood, haunted his past. Yes, rather cowardly because he couldn’t _handle_ the proximity or the fact that Merlin had befriended Arthur, Will had decided to run away, to hide from his past.

“One day you’re just going to have to face it.”

Raking a hand through his hair, Will sighed.

“I know,” he rested his head on hers, gazing out into the horizon. “But today is not that day.”

**♦☼♦**

“So I know this dragon is _one_ nasty piece of work.” Arthur explained, leaning over the table with animated eyes. “…it jumps at me!” he jumped out of his seat, voice raised, causing Lancelot to jolt up in his own seat. Arthur grinned at his reaction before continuing. “I lunge this way, it comes for me! It picks me up and drops me back down onto the ground. _Hard.”_ He revealed his bruised arm and lowered the front to show a deep cut to the right of his collarbone. “I got back up, but it’s raining and _fuck_ I can’t see a thing. Next thing I know it’s….”

Gwaine perched next to Morgana, across the table. He noticed the twinkling in her eyes, the small smirk tickling her lips.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Arthur,” She replied simply, eyes latched onto the man in front of them, a fondness radiating from her.

Gazing up to Arthur who was animatedly retelling his encounter with his Wyvern to Leon, Lance and a few other Camelot colleagues, Gwaine chuckled.

“I haven’t seen him this happy for a long time,” She continued; smirk morphing into a sad smile. “Ealdor must really be something.”

Her voice was laced with sorrow, eyes pensive; the expression was subtle enough to only be seen by those who knew the full extent of her previous encounters with Merlin and Ealdor. Gwaine leant towards her comfortingly, detecting the same isolation he had heard in Leon’s voice. It was no secret that the more exciting, wonderful lifestyle was _outside_ of Camelot base, and in the druid clan. But it wasn’t exactly _easy_ to get permission from both parties. The rugged man decided changing the subject was the best solution; he’d never been good at _consoling_ people. Especially when he knew everything he said would be complete bullshit, because Camelot Base was _dreary and dull_ compared to the outside world.

“I don’t think it’s _just_ Ealdor,” He mused, eyes locked on Arthur who was using his hands to demonstrate how the Wyvern had flown through the air. Morgana didn’t need to pry to understand what he meant by this. She’d noticed the change in Arthur’s behavior _months_ ago. From the day he’d stumbled back into the base all those months ago, when everybody thought the Bastet had killed him – she’d seen the flicker in his eyes. That flicker was now a flame, burning through him. The flames whispered. Sometimes, if you were close enough, focused your attention, you could hear what they whispered.

“Merlin.” She breathed.

“It’s a shame Arthur’s going to betray them all sooner or later.” Gwaine said, earning a horrified look from Morgana. She was too shocked to hear the humour in his voice.

“ _Joking._ Morgana, I’m just kidding.” She met his eyes, and then aggressively punched his shoulder as he broke into mischievous laughter.

“That’s _not funny._ Besides,” Morgana drew her attention back to Arthur. “do you honestly believe he’d do such a thing? He _cares_ about the druids, about Albion; you’d have to be blind not to see that.” pause. The amusement faltered and Morgana suddenly became severe.

“There may have been a time, not too long ago where Arthur would follow his father’s orders regardless of whether he believed it was right. But not now.” She lifted her head, a triumphant, _proud_ smile on her face she would never allow Arthur to ever witness. “Arthur’s his own man now. Uther knows it too; I’ve seen the way he looks at Arthur each time he comes back here.”

“You’re right.” Gwaine admitted, gazing over towards Arthur with an elaborate sigh. Perhaps he’d told his father to _scrap_ the mission, and refuse to follow through with the secret agenda? The past few months had been more about the druids and Merlin, Arthur resembled less of a corporal figure and more of a human being. He almost reminded Gwaine of the younger sixteen-year-old Arthur Pendragon…full of life and _imagination._

“The Arthur we both once knew.” Turning his attention back to Morgana, Gwaine grinned. “Before _any_ of this, before we all joined _Camelot,_ ” Morgana smiled at Arthur in front of them. Gwaine continued, voice softening.

“He’s finally returned.” Chuckle. “Took him about five years or so...”

“Well _that’s_ Arthur written all over,” Morgana scoffed, fondness etching into her voice. “Always too stubborn and proud to allow himself to _feel_ anything _. Or_ to think anything other than what Uther told him.”

Gwaine nodded in agreement.

“Well not anymore,” He said with a grin. “Look at our big boy, growing up and finding himself in the forest…” skewing his face at the words, he turned to see Morgana’s exaggerated-traumatised face.

“… _What_ are you two talking about over there?” Arthur called out petulantly from across the table, shooting them an annoyed look. “You’re _missing_ the best past of my story-”

“-I’ve already heard it _twice-”_ Gwaine jibed in amusement, which was responded with exasperation.

“-I don’t care Gwaine. Get over here now and listen to me!”

“ _Whatever_ you say Princess.” He teased, shuffling over a few seats with Morgana to join the small group of people. Content with their distance, Arthur averted his gaze and continued his story.

“Where was I….ah yes! So Merlin’s flipping out like a girl, thinking I’m stupid enough _not_ to hold onto something as I fall and then…”

It seemed that Morgana and Gwaine were not the only two who had noticed the rapid, _brilliant_ transformation in Arthur. Leon glanced over at them with a warm smile; Lance too. And well, if everybody was secretly giving each other sentimental looks, all thinking the same thing, it didn’t matter. Yes, they all _knew_ it was a bit cheesy. But it didn’t matter, so long as Arthur Pendragon didn’t realise. It was practically impossible for him to d so:

“…horns…pretty cool eh? Anyway, by this time I’ve basically passed the test and even the _rain_ begins to stop falling on my behalf. That’s when…”

Arthur was too absorbed in telling his story to _actually_ see what people’s facial expressions looked like. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally decided to make this LOOK like an actual story now with proper chapter headings.
> 
> (look back through if you want - all updated!) 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy. 2 chapters time - we hit a key point in the plot :O

“When you went left,” Merlin explained, using his hands a gesturing motion. Arthur studied the movements of his hand carefully, gently patting Bregurófne on the neck to pacify its low growl. “You turned very hard. It propelled Léohte and I like _this._ ” Merlin pushed his right hand away from his left dramatically; Arthur smiles sheepishly, understanding what he meant.

Ábilgest was perched on his shoulder, chirping in amusement. Arthur would have brushed the stupid bird off his shoulder there and then, only it seemed Bregurófne kept looking at the fluffy red bird like it was a midday snack. Despite how _annoying_ and _irritating_ the bird was, Arthur _had_ grown attached to it, he couldn’t deny it. Merlin studied the blonde man in front of him, a soft smile on his features. His Eftboren was approaching soon, another few weeks and all preparations would be done.  He looked so _comfortable_ and at ease with the world around him. A Wyvern on one side of him, his cute little forest friend the other. He had reluctantly agreed to exchange his decaying, tatty shirt for a plainer blue silk shirt woven by Gwen. He’d added his own brown leather jacket over the top. The new outfit bought out his eyes perfectly, especially in the blazing midday sun.

Averting his eyes from Arthur, Merlin continued.

“You have to let the wind _carry you._ You can’t fight the natural currents.”

Nodding, Arthur eagerly stood up, mounting his Wyvern impatiently. He’d always been a hands-on student.

“Well let’s try again-”

Merlin also got to his feet, eyes radiating amusement and fondness. Arthur had _really_ grown, not just in wisdom of the druid ways, but as a person too.

“-Not yet.” He interrupted, watching the smile slip off Arthur’s face and crash onto the mossy tree branch. “We need to study for your Eftboren.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur reluctantly dismounted his Wyvern, allowing it to fly out of the huge tree and into the sky. Ábilgest twirled in delight, flying off Arthur’s shoulder now it was safe for it to do so.

“You didn’t say anything about… _studying_ when mentioning the Eftboren before.” Arthur skeptically noted, folding his arms over his chest in dismay. He thought he’d _finally_ escaped the mundane, long lectures that gave less time for physical, active learning. It seemed not.

“You can’t just _turn up_ to your Eftboren Arthur.” Merlin chuckled gently. “There are ancient procedures you must follow.”

“I should have _known._ ” Arthur sighed.

Clasping his hands together, Merlin grinned.

“Let’s begin!”

**♦☼♦**

They decided studying up in the tallest tree (they had named it ‘æsclanğne’) in Ealdor would not only offer them privacy but a peaceful area to work. Amongst the ginormous branches, some thick enough to be tree trunks themselves, very few creatures resided. Whether it was the extreme altitude or lack of a place to burrow, Arthur did not know. It _was_ peaceful though, as Merlin had said earlier. Merlin was now circling him with an intense look on his face, for a reason Arthur did not know. When he tried to move or _ask_ what on earth was going on, Merlin raised his hand and silenced him. This process had been going on for ten minutes now. Eventually, the druid spoke.

“The procession is one of the most important moments of your rebirth,” Merlin stated, grabbing Arthur from behind by the shoulders. “You need to stand _straight-”_

“-I _am!”_ Arthur huffed indignantly, pushing his shoulder back to their former position.

“You are _not!_ The druids are not going to even let you _pass_ through them if you stand like that Arthur, and then you won’t be accepted and we’ll have to start _all over again._ ” The darker haired male scoffed, readjusting the man’s posture with intricate precision.

Taking a few steps back, Merlin held a hand to his chin pensively, studying Arthur. Arthur stood as still as he could, feeling a little awkward under Merlin’s gaze. Merlin seemed to appreciate the new stance and moved further back. He held his hands to his hips.

“Walk over to me!” he called from the other side of the branch.

Arthur obediently began to walk, halting as Merlin slapped a hand to his head in exasperation.

“You’re walking _too fast_ Arthur,” he cried, walking further back to allow a good distance between them. “try again.”

Knowing that arguing with Merlin would be futile, he was only trying to _help_ him after all, Arthur slowed his pace down a little and continued walking. He was met with another criticism.

“Still too fast Arthur, you’re not trying to _knock these people down!_ You’ve got to let them look into your soul, _æalá ðu_.”

He _might have_ over exaggerated a little to Merlin’s command, because both of them established he was _barely moving._ Groaning, the druid watched Arthur’s lip trace a smirk.

“Now you’re just being a _prat!”_

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur stopped walking completely.

“Stop bossing me about _every second_ then. This is _my_ Eftboren!” he protested childishly, folding his arms over his chest petulantly.

“There won’t _be_ an Eftboren if you can’t follow these _simple_ procedures!” Merlin raised his voice, holding a hand to his throbbing head. He’d trained _many_ druids for their Eftboren, but this was _different._ Arthur had to be pristine, immaculate. If he had _one foot_ out of place, Merlin feared Albion would not accept him, realising he was not a pure druid. He prayed Albion would look into his heart and see that it was pure. Sighing, he gazed into Arthur’s confused eyes.

“Let’s just start again okay? Walk towards me.”

**♦☼♦**

As the day went on, Merlin’s mood seemed to deteriorate. Arthur had never _seen_ Merlin like this before. He never imagined Merlin could _be_ so grumpy. Today _he_ was acting like a complete prat, marching Arthur around, _constantly_ barking out negative comments. Now Arthur was on his knees, head bowed like he would do after the procession. Apparently Hunith would be the one to lift him up from his feet. Merlin gestured for him to stand and he did so, simply because he didn’t want to aggravate the druid further.

“And my father will say, _Arfuera,_ are you prepared to abide by the laws and rules of our kind, to love and respect the people, and embrace Albion?” Merlin said, standing opposite Arthur.

“Yes, Folctenan-“

“- _Folctogan._ ” Merlin corrected. This error suddenly ignited the chain of negativity. “and you can’t just say ‘ _yes’._ This is a _serious_ question, requiring more thought than that. You must answer with ‘I will’; you are _pledging_ yourself to the people. Understand?”

“I will, _Folctogan.”_ Arthur flippantly snapped back, voice comically low and loud.

As Merlin met the prat’s eyes, angered by the _lack_ of seriousness, Arthur grinned. He raised his eyebrows at Merlin, conveying amusement and exasperation through his sapphire eyes. Merlin laughed, allowing the tension to seep out of his body. Arthur practically _sighed in relief,_ revealing just how irritating Merlin had become the past few hours. Yes the preparations for an Eftboren were strenuous and stressful, but taking his anxiety out on his friend was not a good idea. Walking towards Merlin, not caring if he was walking _too fast_ or _too slow_ or with the _right posture_ or saying the _right words,_ Arthur met the druid’s eyes calmly. It was evident Merlin was _panicking_ irrationally about this ceremony.

“God I’m sorry,” Merlin breathed apologetically finally. “There’s just _so_ much to do and I _really_ want you to-”

“-Merlin we’ll be fine. We’ve got two weeks and trying to cram it all into one day isn’t the best solution.” Arthur said knowingly, watching Merlin’s cheeks flush. To think he’d thought Arthur hadn’t _noticed_ his uncontrollable panic. He nodded in acknowledgement of Arthur’s words. Arthur was right.

“Why don’t we take a break?” the blonde man suggested, a smile on his face.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur had _wisely_ decided they leaveÆsclanğne for a while and visited the calming, beautiful lake Beorhtne. They were now sat in the glorious sunlight, allowing the heat to kiss their skin whilst eating some delicious berries they had picked along the way. The berries were fully ripened and juicy, earning a moan of satisfaction from Merlin as he _finally_ relaxed.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Merlin admitted, breathing in the fresh air around them.

Lifting his arms behind him to cradle his head as he lay down, Arthur hauled his sunglasses from his bag and put them on. It’d been a while since he’d used any kind of fashion commodity. He no longer knew where on _Albion_ his phone was. The last he’d seen it was at Camelot Base, and Arthur certainly didn’t want to go back there. If he did, he _knew_ his father would interrogate him. One could say he was being irresponsible right now, running from his duties at Camelot _and_ Ealdor by bathing in the sunlight. Right now, as the warm rays hit him, he decided he couldn’t care less. The world could wait for a few hours – he mentally gasped at the thought. He hadn’t acted this carefree and chilled for _years._ He liked it.

“You have a lot on your plate, it’s no big deal.” He replied, unaware Merlin was quietly scrutinising the strange contraption covering his eyes.

Leaning towards Arthur, Merlin lifted the sunglasses from his head. Arthur shielded his eyes with a hand, gazing over to Merlin. He rotated the sunglasses in his hand curiously. Sitting up, Arthur grinned at the dumbfounded expression on the druid’s face. Merlin reluctantly settled them on his head, allowing the temple tips to rest on his ears. He looked around in surprise, everything was a little bit darker – but still bright.

“What is the purpose of these things?” He asked, pulling the sunglasses off his face, passing them to Arthur.

“Well,” Arthur said, putting them back on his face, resuming his position. “They look cool, and protect your eyes from UV rays.”

Merlin lay down beside Arthur, shutting his eyes gently. The sun burnt patterns into his eyelids.

“There’s a spell for that you know.” He mumbled.

Arthur hummed non-committedly in response.

“Ah! _There_ you two are.” A new voice chimed brightly. Arthur recognised the voice instantly and made no effort to move, a little gutted his quiet-time with Merlin was sabotaged. Merlin sat up with a smile and greeted Gwaine. As he sat up, he noticed Gwen and Lance were also here.

“Come sit down.” He gestured happily, beaming at his three friends.

Gwen perched beside Merlin, resting her head on his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around her, Merlin smiled. Lance sat next to Gwen, though that was _obviously_ going to happen, and Gwaine thought it would be _hilarious_ to prod Arthur until he roused and said something. Arthur was _adamant_ about remaining silent and trying to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet. This resulted in Merlin giving him a gentle nudge with his foot. Arthur looked up at him through his sunglasses, returning the nudge with his own foot.

“We haven’t done this for a while.” Gwen breathed contentedly; Merlin frowned in agreement. It was true; they _hadn’t_ sat down and _relaxed,_ forgetting about day-to-day errands and the bigger picture for a long time, possibly since the arrival of Camelot Enterprise, and that was roughly five months ago.

The five of them remained like that for the rest of the day, entangled in each other’s company, enjoying the sunshine. They skimmed stones, they laughed and joked, they sat by the lake until the sun turned orange, creating a hypnotic glow across the water. Gwaine jokingly said he would skinny-dip if anyone else were brave enough to follow him. Unsurprisingly, nobody volunteered. Gwaine sat back down, declaring his disappointment. Merlin allowed his warm smile to resonate over his glowing face, staring brazenly at Arthur. Meeting the druid’s eyes, Arthur returned the look before studying the sunset over the lake. Lancelot and Gwen were holding hands, her body now resting against his as she fell in and out of sleep; Merlin couldn’t stop himself from grinning like a child whenever he looked over at them. Subconsciously, Merlin had started to lean against Arthur, but the blonde showed no evident signs of repulsion or protest.

As the velvet blanket of sparkling jewels Gwaine wished he could pluck from the sky and sell for infinite prosperity consumed the sunset, he established the ‘couples’ beside him had dozed off. Lancelot and Gwen were locked in the world of dreams, blissfully unaware of their surroundings. Gwaine was happy for Lancelot, _truly._ He was a noble man, and deserved a beautiful, honest woman such as Gwen. Then he turned his attention towards Merlin and Arthur. Arthur’s head was leant on Merlin’s shoulder, the sunglasses on his face hiding his eyes. It was fairly obvious he was asleep, if his long, heavy breathing and lack of movement was anything to go by. Merlin, on the other hand, was awake. He looked over to his friend and ducked his head when Gwaine motioned towards Arthur.

“He’s out of it.” Gwaine admitted with a smirk, poking the blonde with a finger to see if he would stir. Arthur subconsciously rolled a little closer to Merlin.

“He’s been through a lot lately,” Merlin replied, resisting the urge to run a hand through the tousled blonde locks protectively. “and he has done well.”  

“You care about him a lot.” The rugged man deduced pensively, eyes not leaving Merlin’s face. Averting his eyes, Merlin sighed.

“I care about _all of you_.” He gestured towards Gwen and Lance compassionately, a hint of a smile dusting his face. Merlin knew where Gwaine was trying to lead this conversation. However, he refused to co-operate, for the sake of his heart and his destiny.

“So you’re saying you don’t care about a certain individual a _little_ bit more than-”

“- _Gwaine!”_ Merlin laughed, unable to take the conversation seriously anymore.

Holding his hands up resignedly, Gwaine smirked.

_“Okay_! I’ll stop.” He met the druid’s eyes softly. “But you don’t need to worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Merlin blamed his inability to defend himself on his fatigue. Rather than deny the unspoken words, he remained silent. The silence said enough, and Gwaine leant over a sound Arthur to Merlin. Gripping his shoulder, Gwaine smiled at him. The pair sat for another hour talking amongst themselves in whispers, giggling like children.

When nightfall fully descended upon them, they roused Lancelot and Gwen gently from their sleep. As for Arthur, Merlin –after being persuaded _-_ and Gwaine thought it would be hilarious to wake him up by other means. Gwen watched the meddling duo hover over Arthur, a look of feigned dismay on her face. The pair lunged towards Arthur with unnecessary, raving shouts attempting to mimic a Questing Beast. Arthur awoke abruptly, practically _jumping_ to his feet, dagger pulled from his pocket. His eyes were wide and full of caution.

Gwen couldn’t _help_ but laugh at his reaction, Lancelot smiled fondly. Merlin and Gwaine broke into laughter as Arthur slowly processed the situation. Glaring at the pair, he put his dagger away, a little embarrassed.

“That was not funny.”

His agitated words spurred on Merlin’s glee, and Arthur’s embarrassment merely grew when Merlin ruffled his hand through his hair out of the blue.

“Come on,” The druid said with a smile, tugging his arm lightly. “You can’t sleep out here.” 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter, big delay. Sorry. Literally about 95% of this chapter wasn't in my synopsis, the rest just...happened! So I spent a while trying to decide if the sub-plot was relevant enough to add, turns out I believed it was!
> 
> EXCITING TIMES NEXT CHAPTER.  
> The clock is ticking, Arthur's six months are coming up soon... 
> 
> Big things revealed in this chapter too... enjoy.

 

 

Arthur had discovered that Bregurófne really _did_ live up to its name, more than he could have ever anticipated. It was mighty and majestic, gliding through the skies effortlessly, its tail swinging behind it. It was fast, agile. Bregurófne was strong, its spectacular coiled horns at the front of its head revealed not only its vigour but its longevity. When Arthur rode it, they connected as one, battling against the wind (despite Merlin’s encouragement not to do so) and raging their own ferocious warfare against nature’s forces. Every afternoon, Arthur believed Merlin was running errands for Balinor, he would climb to the top of æsclanğne and summon Bregurófne. The creature would land gracefully on the tree, bowing its head towards its master.

They would then take flight and become the envy of every rider. They raced the wind, they challenged the vertical drops of the cliff faces, they wove intricately between the branches of the canopy layer. Each movement was swift, beautiful and precise. Arthur no longer required speaking aloud, nor _thinking_ commands to his Wyvern. His Wyvern and he were in a peaceful equilibrium, one many would strive to achieve and fail. Today they had travelled far beyond Ealdor, over the Perilous lands and in the direction of the Freignt clan. Arthur knew they had to respect the clan’s privacy and leave within at _least_ a five mile radius, he wasn’t a druid yet. He was still a Pendragon, still the son of the man who condemned the druids.

He was surprised to say the least, when a shadow cast over he and Bregurófne; one that could only be forged by another Wyvern. Gazing up, half expecting it to be Merlin, he noticed the hue of the scales weren’t quite bright enough to be Léohte’s, they were a murky grey. The creature was clearly tamed, as it flew almost mechanically, feet dangling on each side of its body. The fact that the druid hadn’t introduced themselves didn’t bode well in Arthur’s opinion. Skillfully, Arthur maneuvered upwards, flying beside the mysterious intruder. He was even _more_ surprised when he identified the rider. The man looked over at him, eyes narrowed and expression stern.

Arthur was _not_ surprised when the man steered his Wyvern to the left abruptly, creating a surge of wind that pushed Bregurófne sideways. Clutching onto the horns tighter, Arthur felt his trusted sky-companion adjust to the shift in the wind and continue as if unaffected. Arthur smirked, there _were_ some advantages to deliberately flying against the wind; it strengthened your Wyvern’s wings. Despite wanting _nothing_ more than to prove a point and retaliate to the aggression, Arthur refrained from doing so. There were some fights that were not worth starting; some arguments had no reason to escalate. The man on his murky Wyvern gazed over at Arthur, something unidentifiable in his eyes.

“Impressive Wyvern,” Arthur admitted, unsure how exactly to being a conversation with this man. “What’s it called?”

“Fullmægen.” The man reluctantly replied, not returning the question.  Arthur nodded appreciatively at the name, not bothering to comment on it. Before he could think of something else to say, the man continued.

“What are _you_ doing out here?” he asked, yet again startling Arthur – this time with his genuine tone of voice and the lack of bite it had.

“I suppose I should ask you the same thing,” Arthur mused thoughtfully, watching the brown-haired man evade his eyes towards the horizon. “You said you went to Serepolis, that’s pretty far from where we are now.”

Twisting his lips, the man ignored Arthur’s words stubbornly. The reaction caused Arthur to _smile_ of all things. Yes, this man hated his guts, this man was hostile towards him, this man had _left_ his best friend because of Arthur, but that by no means made him a bad man.

“Merlin misses you,” Arthur called over the sound of the wind scraping past their ears at a high velocity. He hoped to at _least_ make some kind of contact with this man, for Merlin’s sake more than for his own. At these words, the man rolled his eyes and ordered his Wyvern to fly faster; Bregurófne had no trouble catching up. Arthur rolled _his_ eyes petulantly.

“ _Will-”_

The Wyvern abruptly slowed down, allowing conversation to flow easier.

“-He doesn’t need _me,_ he’s got you.” The brown-haired man eventually spat disdainfully, the jealousy consuming him spewing out. Arthur’s expression softened as he studied Will.

“Merlin told me what happened to your father,” he watched Will flinch at the words, casting his gaze anywhere but towards the blonde. Nonetheless, there had been no attempt at verbal abuse yet- Arthur took the response as a step in the right direction. Swallowing-hard, he offered his condolences.

“I’m truly sorry for the crimes that have been committed against the druids. I know there is injustice and intolerable prejudice against your race. I also know that it is my father who has built the foundations for this unjustified loathing and discrimination. Yet you must understand that a name does not determine _who you are,_ nor does your position in life, or who your parents are. Just because I’m a… _Pendragon_ doesn’t mean I believe that magic is evil. It doesn’t mean that I believe what Camelot stands for is right either-”

“-If you feel that way, why haven’t you tried to make change before?” Will asked, desperate and weary.

“…I wasn’t brave enough to make a stand. I was…” sighing, Arthur raked a hand through his hair. “I was a coward.”

Will scoffed, earning a knowing look from Arthur. Meeting the blonde’s eyes hesitantly, Will raised an eyebrow silently. It was a gesture to speak the unspoken words resonating between them in the air.

“You have also been a coward William,” Arthur concluded. “Running away from your past, your fears, leaving behind those you love so you can indulge in self-pity and feed your escapist mind.” Pause. He stroked Bregurófne’s scales as they glided leisurely through the air. “Perhaps we both ought to stop running away, put the past behind us and confess to our fears.” Reaching out a hand, Arthur smiled lightly; it was small enough to be considered a trick of the mind.

“Come back home to Ealdor-” this triggered the anger in Will.

“-Ealdor can _never_ be my home whilst a Pendragon resides there.”

Withdrawing his hand, Arthur frowned. He couldn’t deny that he was a little wounded by the fierce words, laced in bitterness and contempt.

“Then your own stubbornness will cost you your own happiness.” Arthur spat agitatedly, growing annoyed at trying to reason with the stupid man. “For my Eftboren is in two weeks time.

“…You’ve changed.” Will muttered, quiet enough to be misinterpreted as a mere illusion created by the wind. It was evident that Arthur had heard these words. Confused, he turned his attention towards the man, the optimism inside half-expecting an apology. But Arthur knew things with Will never were, nor could ever be simple. Will’s next words confirmed this.

“But don’t go thinking that we’re friends now, or something stupid like that, because we’re _not_.”

Arthur stifled a laugh at the immature behaviour.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, unable to stop the smug grin spreading over his face.

_Arthur!_

Eyes wide, Arthur searched for the source of Merlin’s voice, heart racing. He wasn’t sure how he could in all honesty _explain_ this strange scenario. Turning to Will, he sighed. Will’s Wyvern immediately sensed the beating wings of another Wyvern, becoming a little unnerved.

“You _didn’t_ see me today,” Will mumbled, averting his eyes from Arthur’s judgmental look. Arthur knew there was no reasoning with him, he _wanted_ to remain lost, he wanted to wallow in his own selfish actions. “I’m still in Serepolis with Freya…I’m, I’m _happy.”_

Ironic, the way he said the word happy sounded more like he was trapped in remorse and sadness. In all honesty, Arthur thought it sounded like Will was convincing himself more than Arthur. Smiling woefully at Will, Arthur nodded in agreement. The druid cast one final look back at the blonde, before he and his Wyvern flew off at a rapid speed. They were riding the horizon, almost out of visibility when Merlin and Léohte reached his side.

“Knew you’d be up here,” Merlin breathed, patting his Wyvern lightly. Of _course,_ Merlin had discovered his routine. “I’ve been watching you and Bregurófne, you’ve become an impressive team.”

Shrugging, Arthur kept his eyes on the distance, unsure of what to make of today’s events.

“Who was that?” Merlin asked him curiously, and Arthur should have known better than to assume his friend wouldn’t have noticed the other rider.

“…Zelina.” He lied, watching Merlin take the bait and laugh humorously. The laughter was encouragement to elaborate on the fictional story. “She seems to have become bored with pursuing you, and has decided – _quite rightly too –_ that I am the better looking, more charming and charismatic one-”

“-She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” Merlin sighed dramatically, feigning egoism as he ran a hand through his black locks. Grinning at his friend, Arthur chuckled.

“Yeah, she doesn’t.” he murmured, too relaxed to condition his tongue. Gripping Bregurófne’s horns tighter to stop himself from slapping his hands over his mouth, Arthur felt his cheeks flush a little. Bregurófne snorted, whether it was in response to this comment or coincidence, Arthur didn’t know and didn’t _want_ to know, one annoying creature – that fluffy red bird – was enough. Titling his head to one side, a faint smirk on his face, Merlin pushed Léohte closer teasingly.

“Sorry I didn’t quite catch that Arthur-”

“-Oh will you just _shut-up_ Merlin _!”_ Arthur snapped grumpily, not sure why he felt so trapped when he could just order his Wyvern to speed off. He didn’t, allowing Bregurófne to glide alongside Léohte.

That’s when a large shadow – big enough to be a _cloud_ – toppled over them, blocking out the sun. This was followed by a deafening, overpowering roar. Eyes wide, panic-stricken, Merlin gazed over to Arthur frantically.

“ _FLY AS FAST AS YOU CAN!”_

Arthur _definitely_ didn’t need to be told twice, because that was one _big_ motherfucking Wyvern. In fact, when he spared a glance up at it, he established it wasn’t a _gigantic Wyvern._ It was a dragon, a _proper_ Dragon! Bregurófne quickened its pace, significantly faster than Léohte. The shadow hovering over them effortlessly kept up with them. It roared maliciously, its claws reaching out for the slower Wyvern: Léohte. Bravely, Arthur and Bregurófne rammed into the dragon’s foot with force, steering it off-course. Under Merlin’s command, Léohte rapidly spun out of harms way, narrowly missing those giant claws. The Dragon turned its attention towards the pair that had the audacity to try and _stop_ it.

“We need to get down,” Merlin yelled, his Wyvern clumsily fluttering back and forth with fright. He tried to calm it, eyes glowing gold. “To the forest!”

Nodding, Arthur stroked Bregurófne’s horns soothingly. His Wyvern was surprisingly composed despite being chased by a creature that would happily eat it. Léohte wasn’t doing so well, frequently averting the course Merlin had charted out in his mind. It appeared that Merlin’s Wyvern was _fully_ aware of what was chasing them. The dive down to the forest had to be meticulously calculated, there was _no way_ they could continue outrunning this Dragon. With Léohte’s tolerance decreasing, Arthur was fearful of Merlin’s safety, and whether his Wyvern would make the dive as successful as Bregurófne. Merlin noticed Arthur’s reluctance and glowered.

“DO IT. I’ll follow you!”

Shutting his eyes for a moment, the rush of the wind on his face, Arthur clutched the horns tighter. This was a complicated dive, the angle had to be prefect, close to ninety degrees, but not completely. The Dragon above lunged for the Wyverns, instigating the dive. Bregurófne fell first plummeting down to the forest at a rapid speed – Léohte struggled to follow. Glancing behind, Arthur gasped. Léohte wasn’t following; the damn Dragon was _seconds_ from consuming them!

“TURN AROUND!” Arthur ordered to his Wyvern.

What happened next unfolded so quickly that neither Merlin nor Arthur had time to process it fully until they collided brutally with the emergent layer of the grand forest. Arthur jumped off Bregurófne’s back, grabbing Merlin by his jacket. He recklessly pulled him off Léohte, watching as the Dragon’s claws followed their movements. Léohte’s wing was slashed mercilessly by the claws. The Wyvern roared out in pain, Merlin leapt out of Arthur’s grasp towards his Wvyern, seeming to forget that they were in midair and descending rapidly. Just as the Dragon made its intentions clear, reaching for Léohte, Bregurófne wrapped its legs around Léohte, sheltering it with its own wings. Merlin realised at this moment that he was falling, without the aid of a Wyvern. Arthur latched back onto the jacket, hauling him viciously towards him. Bregurófne skillfully maneuvered itself beneath them, allowing them to fall onto its back.

Merlin sighed in relief with Arthur.

Then they hit the emergent layer at a forceful velocity, and immediately stopped laughing. Bregurófne swerved out of the way of the Dragon that had pursued them into the trees. Arthur noticed a thick tree ahead, Bregurófne had the same idea. It tilted sideways for a moment, gracefully slipping through the small gap, leaving the Dragon stuck on the other side. Bregurófne released Léohte onto the thick tree branch, landing softly beside it. Merlin leapt out of Arthur’s grasp, desperately running towards Léohte as it cried out in pain.  

“LÉOHTE!” crouching by the wounded Wvyern’s side, Merlin wiped his eyes dejectedly. Its left wing was badly torn through the middle, making it impossible for it to fly. Arthur knelt beside Merlin, wincing as he inspected the damage.

“She…she won’t survive.” Merlin whispered morbidly, tracing his hand delicately over her scaly skin. She leant into the touch, breath ragged and loud. “Even if I heal her, she won’t be able to fly for at _least_ three weeks. She can’t stay up here, predators will sense her weakness, and they’ll come for her.”

“Isn’t there somewhere we can take her?” Arthur asked softly, surprised that Léohte welcomed his warm hands on her face. Merlin shook his head sadly, unable to conceal his upset. Incapable of accepting this, Arthur shook his head fiercely. “There must be a _something_ we can do! _Anything!_ ”

Merlin remained cryptically silent, the tears abruptly fading.

“There is somewhere we can take her.” He whispered eventually. “My friend Gilli, he lives on the Western Coast. Very few predators venture that far out of the forest,” his eyes lost the spark that had suddenly been ignited. “But it’s too far. It will take _weeks_ to travel that far across Albion, by that time she will be dead.”

“It would take less than an _hour_ if we used a helicopter,” Arthur explained, knowing that what he was saying would not bode well for him, and his father would not approve _at all._ Lifting his head, Merlin narrowed his eyes, confused. A helicopter, he assumed, was a human contraption like a ‘plane’. Standing up, Arthur pulled out his teleport device.

“If I go back to Camelot now, Morgana and Leon could take us to your friend Gilli, we’d get there in time.”

As fantastic as that sounded, Merlin _knew_ Arthur was hiding something from him. That sounded _too good to be true,_ meaning there probably was going to be some kind of consequence for Arthur.  

“You stay here,” Arthur began, pressing the teleport device. “heal her the best you can. I’ll be back with Morgana and Leon in no time-”

“-How will you find us again Arthur? We’re in the middle of _nowhere,_ Ealdor is,” frowning, Merlin pointed towards the horizon bleakly. “Somewhere in that vicinity.”

“We’re pretty close to Monus, and over there lies Mánhús.” Arthur observed with a smile, startling Merlin with his knowledge. “We’ll find you don’t worry.”

With those reassuring words, Arthur disappeared into thin air, leaving Merlin with Bregurófne and Léohte.

**♦☼♦**

“Arthur!” the raven-haired woman greeted the blonde warmly. Her smile fell as she studied the expression on his face. His eyes were hollow, lips drawn into a thin line. Morgana was sharp on reading Arthur, never failing to miss an expression or poorly concealed emotion. Leaning towards him urgently, she drew her eyebrows together. “What’s happened?”

“I need your help.” He gestured over to Leon who had noticed Arthur’s arrival, automatically making his way over.

There had been a transformation in Leon, a _subtle_ one but nonetheless a transformation. For starters he was wearing _smart attire_ , one that suggested he was not exploring Albion like he wished, and was caught up in more corporal matters. Arthur had seen very little of Leon the past few months. Since he had been mysteriously reassigned in the project, the man spent most his time inside. When Arthur was occasionally in Camelot, Leon was usually in his office. This perturbed Arthur; Leon had his _own office._ Leon wasn’t an office man. Whatever _this_ reassignment was, it had to be serious. Arthur made note to try and slip it into conversation when he next saw his father.

“What’s wrong?” Morgana asked, following Arthur as he strode down the hallway. She beckoned Leon to join her.

Arthur kept his eyes low, not wanting to meet the eyes of the employees who worked here, or bring unnecessary attention to himself. Morgana had told him what people were saying about him, some kind, _most_ not so kind. Granted his visits had become less and less frequent, despite his father demanding to see him every week (Arthur suddenly realised he seemed to be defying his father a lot recently). It appeared Cedric and Valiant’s hate campaign had spread in the absence of Arthur Pendragon. Evidently, as the business demeanor dissolved away, so did the respect he held in Camelot Enterprise. He prayed his father knew _nothing_ of the talk – he may be reassigned. Not that Arthur _would move._

He wasn’t really working anymore, he was _living._

Morgana prodded him with her finger, keeping up with his agitated walk.

“We can’t _talk here.”_ He hissed back in response, fearful somebody may be listening to them.  

Confusion swathed Morgana’s face when they reached the air dock. The area was littered with military planes, helicopters and aircraft. Arthur established that several of them had guns and artillery added to them. To say this made him feel uneasy would have been an understatement. Luckily, a crew was _already_ flying out towards Dresdentian today, meaning little attention or surveillance was focused on the dock itself. Arthur was fully aware that you needed permission from Pendragon to take out a Helicopter. But, Arthur _was_ technically a Pendragon, so signing it out himself wouldn’t be a problem right? Wrong. He knew this would be a problem, but what else could he do? Léohte would _die_ if they didn’t help her. Merlin would be devastated, forever blaming himself for the demise of his Wyvern, when it _wasn’t_ his fault at all.

“What are you doing Arthur?” Morgana sighed, unable to hide the curiosity lingering in her tone, breaking him from his thoughts.

“We,” Arthur turned to Leon, eager to see his expression. “We’re off to save a Wyvern, fly it to the West Coast and meet the Saerion clan.”

At the prospect of discovery and research, _meeting_ the druids, Leon leapt without question into the Helicopter Arthur had reached.

“Arthur you could get into _a lot_ of trouble for this,” Morgana said severely, grabbing him by his shirt. She scowled harder when Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m being serious Arthur. You don’t think that your own father hasn’t noticed you haven’t been here for at _least_ two weeks? And now you’re going to take a helicopter out to save a _magical creature._ If Uther _finds out_ you could be reassigned or worse-”

“-He’s not going to find out Morgana, because _you’re_ going to cover for me,” Arthur snapped petulantly, they didn’t have _time_ to waste. “and it’s not any old magical creature, it’s _Merlin’s._ Merlin _needs_ our help,” Arthur watched the comprehension flicker in her mind. “He helped you once before, despite knowing if he was caught the consequences would be severe.”

Nodding in agreement with these words, Morgana climbed up reluctantly, ensuring that nobody was intently watching them. Arthur buckled himself in, sparing a soft smile for Morgana. It was obvious she was troubled. The last time she’d seen Merlin it had been about her nightmares. The nightmares she now believed were nothing but a manifestation in her head caused by bites. Oh, how that couldn’t be further from the truth. Arthur wondered if she’d been having visions, if she _believed_ Merlin as much as she did that night. He couldn’t ask, not here. The conversation would have to be saved for another time. Leon took the controls, lifting the Helicopter into motion.  

**♦☼♦**

They found Merlin within ten minutes of flying at high speeds. He had attempted to fix her delicate wing with magical healing, plastering large thick leaves around the tear for comfort and to cease the risk of infection. Léohte had panicked when they tried to place her in the aircraft, causing unwilling tears of frustration to fall down Merlin’s face. How were they meant to _save her_ if she was too frenzied? Arthur had knelt beside the druid, muttering reassuring words before ordering Leon to lower the large net that dangled from the Helicopter. Morgana reached for the large blanket by the first aid kit, smoothing it over the bottom of the net. Merlin refused to ride up with Morgana, Arthur and Leon, wanting to stay with his Wyvern the whole journey protectively. Arthur reluctantly agreed, he couldn’t deny Merlin that request, even if it was a little hazardous.

“When you near the Saerion clan,” Merlin addressed Leon from below, stroking Léohte as she cried. “You must land _outside_ the perimeter. They haven’t met _þá útlendan_ before. They will be afraid, they _will_ be angry. It’s best if Arthur and I go in first and try to explain the situation to Gilli. Then we can carry Léohte through to the clan.”

Arthur smoothed his hand over Merlin’s knuckles comfortingly, noticing the way he flinched each time his Wyvern broke into a wail of pain. In response, Merlin smiled weakly, not quite meeting the blonde’s eyes. He caressed the silver scales on Léohte’s back, feeling her pulsing heart beat through his palms.

“Okay,” Leon called. “Ready to go.”

Standing, Arthur made his way back up the Helicopter. He cast one hopeful glance down to Léohte and Merlin as the engine started. This _better_ work, he prayed to himself.

“It’ll be fine,” Morgana cooed beside him gently, he nodded bleakly in response, not really believing her words.

**♦☼♦**

The Saerion reef looked spectacular in the sunlight. The trees shrunk in size the closer they got to the coastline, spreading out from each other, wavering in the gentle breeze. The sand was pure white against the crystal blue waters. Not too far on the horizon stood a large cliff-face by the beach attached to a spectacular arch, Arthur could already tell from this distance that it was inhabited with the druids. Leon landed on the beach, anxious that the noise of the Helicopter had attracted attention to them. Jumping out of the aircraft, Morgana rushed towards Merlin, helping him move Léohte onto the stretcher (Merlin had used a quick spell to expand the size of the stretcher). Whilst this happened, Arthur gazed over towards the settlement. A dark mass has collected at the bottom of the cliff, and it was moving rapidly across the beach towards them.

“ _Merlin,”_ his muttered swallowing-hard.

Standing up, Merlin left Léohte’s side for a moment to observe the beach. The whole clan were marching towards them viciously. He frowned, the Saerion clan weren’t exactly renowned for their hospitality, perhaps he should have _thought_ of this before. Nonetheless, fake confidence shrouded around him. It seemed he was going to have to do the thing he disliked doing the most, be Emrys. Slowly, he walked towards the mass of druids. When Arthur made his intentions of following him clear, Merlin held a hand up. Arthur immediately understood _why._ As the clan came further into focus, the wooden spears, toxic arrows and weapons were displayed, their shouts and cries echoing across the landscape.

 _They’re less tolerant than I first thought,_ Merlin explained to Arthur in his mind. _Stay back. If they don’t listen to me, just get back in the helicopter and tell Leon to fly-_

 _-What about you?_ Arthur asked nervously, restraining the urge to step forwards. Merlin smiled enigmatically at him for a second.

 _I’m_ _Emrys, remember?_

With that Merlin turned his attention towards the angry mob that had formed a few metres ahead. He instantly caught the familiar eyes of his old friend Gilli. Gilli was a peculiar druid, with pronounced ears and a friendly-looking face. The druid made no gesture to greet him, remaining in the neat line that had formed across the beach. Merlin gritted his teeth, growing impatient. He should had _guessed_ this would become a political game. Bravely, he took another step forwards, watching the druids clutch their weapons tighter; some raised their palms in warning.

“My friends,” Merlin called out towards the silenced, curious clan. “I come requesting your help-”

“-you come with the _enemy!”_ one druid screamed out.

This spurred on the clan, who began chanting and yelling.

“-how dare you bring their kind here!”

One druid at the front shot a jet of light from their hands towards Merlin angrily, followed by an outbreak of vicious spells. Morgana gripped Arthur tightly by the arm, watching him raise his palm. Meeting her eyes fiercely, Arthur lowered is hand. His heart was racing. How was Merlin going to defend himself? To everyone’s astonishment, Merlin flicked the spells away with his hand effortlessly. Each spell withered into oblivion before it reached him, earning shocked gasps.

“Forgive me,” Merlin said, voice low and full of power. Arthur watched in awe as the druids lowered their weapons in fearful realisation. “I should have made my intentions known before coming here-”

“-Y-your _grace,_ p- _please_ f-forgive us _!”_ A female stuttered nervously, falling to her knees. She was dressed in an eloquent jacket, black hair braided elegantly. Her fancy golden gown gestured she was of importance, perhaps the clan leader. The clan abruptly mimicked her gesture, bowing before Merlin, confirming Arthur’s suspicions she was the leader. Gilli seemed dumbfounded by all of this, gazing interestedly towards his old friend – who was apparently _Emrys._

“Rise, my friends.” Merlin commanded awkwardly, wincing as they mechanically followed his orders. He had never desired power, or been one to marvel at having control over people. In fact, he heavily disliked it. Nonetheless, if wielding his status as Emrys would save Léohte, then he would play the role destiny supposedly lay out for him.

“Emrys,” the female bowed her head once more whilst curtsying. “My name is Topia, I am the clan leader of Saerion. How may we be of service?”  

“Topia, please,” Merlin insisted, bowing his head in return politely. “Call me Merlin.” Pause. The druids all stared at him with wide eyes, waiting for his next words. Merlin shuffled uncomfortably under their gaze, wishing nothing more than for them to just treat him _normally._ He met Gilli’s hurt expression and sighed, he probably should have mentioned his secret identity…but there really hadn’t been a need to all those years ago.

“My Wyvern was attacked,” Merlin explained. “she needs somewhere safe to stay and recover.”

“She is most welcome here,” Topia said. “Gilli is rather knowledgeable in this field.”

Offering a warm smile towards his old friend, Merlin raised his eyebrows.

“Gilli, if you wouldn’t mind?”

All eyes turned to the druid. Gilli stumbled out of the line, walking towards Merlin hesitantly.

“Long time no see, _Emrys.”_ He said rather rudely; Merlin pretended he hadn’t heard the words and gestured towards Topia who took a step forwards.

“Forgive me for asking, Emrys.” She muttered, gazing behind him urgently. “Why did you bring the _útlendan_ here? They have committed great crimes against our kind, berated our traditions and caused suffering.”

Merlin smiled, craning close to whisper something in her ear, and Arthur _wished_ he could hear what they were saying because all of a sudden the woman’s eyes were latched upon him intensely. Turning back to Merlin abruptly, Topia leant towards him in amazement.

“He is… _he_ is the once and future?” Merlin nodded simply, gazing over to the man in the distance fondly.

“Does he know?” she asked softly.

“This is a destiny he must discover for himself.” Merlin wisely replied, averting his eyes to Gilli who appeared even _more_ confused by talk of destiny and once and future.

“Then let us focus on the real problem at hand, your Wyvern.” Topia concluded, walking towards the three _útlendan_ cautiously. Her emerald eyes skimmed over Leon, doted on Morgana, then rested pensively upon Arthur Pendragon. Leon bowed his head in respect; the other two copied him swiftly.

“Leon has studied the druids for many years,” Merlin supplied, watching the man blush. “He is an expert on everything Albion.”

Raising her eyebrows, Topia moved her gaze back towards the curly-haired man. Morgana smirked in delight. Whilst Topia began interrogating Leon in the druid tongue, examining his responses carefully, Gilli knelt beside Merlin by Léohte. Smoothing his hands over the silver scales, Gilli smiled weakly. “She is beautiful Merlin.” He admitted, moving closer to the wing. Gently he peeled off the leaves, studying the gash in her wing closely. “It’s not as serious as it looks. The tear luckily did not extend to the end of the wing-“

“-So she’ll be okay?” Merlin breathed in relief.

“Yes. She will need a few days recovery here in the safety of the clan, away from potential threats. When she has overcome the initial exhaustion it will take her a week or so to grasp the concept of flying again. Unfortunately, there is nothing that can be done for the tear.” Gilli patted the scales comfortingly. “It is better to leave the tear than try to repair it. If the stiches came undone whilst flying, which is most likely, she could have a fatal crash. It’s much safer to allow her to become accustomed to the change in her wing, deal with the damage naturally.”

Nodding in understanding, Merlin frowned.

“She will be safe here Merlin,” Gilli said. “When she is ready to take to the skies, your paths will join again.”

“I know you will take care of her for me.” Merlin grimaced, petting the Wyvern delicately. It gazed over to him, confused and fatigued. “It’s okay Léohte, Gilli will take care of you here. We will be apart no more than a few weeks. When you are ready, you can fly home.” The Wyvern appeared unsatisfied with these terms. “I’m sorry this is the only way I can ensure your safe recovery. Bregurófne will miss you, don’t worry.”

Getting to his feet, Merlin turned to Topia who had made her way towards the injured creature.

“Emrys, I promise we will take care of her.” She signaled towards her clan. Six druids walked towards the stretcher. “Take Léohte back to the clan, she needs rest and shelter.”

Gilli patted Merlin on the shoulder.

“I hope to see you soon, friend.” He said, briskly following the stretcher to oversee the procedures.

“I cannot thank you enough Topia.” Merlin bowed his head to her, clasping her hand gently.

“Emrys, _thank you._ ” She replied, greatly confusing him. “Since the arrival of Camelot Enterprise, the clan have been on edge, jumpy. I have no doubt that seeing you would have restored their faith in Albion and in the ancient legends, promising our safety from outside threats.”

With that, the woman left their presence, following the procession back to the settlement. Merlin watched sadly as his Wyvern was carried away into the distance, towards the Saerion clan.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur was unsure how to react to Merlin’s strange behaviour, strange meaning the druid had deviated from his usual quirky nature, and dwindled into a quiet, pensive state that was too distant to try and engage with. As the silence unfolded beneath the silver moon, Arthur quickly established that it wasn’t a peaceful silence. Even though it _should’ve_ been. They’d saved Léohte! Gilli was currently caring for her. Arthur frowned, running a hand through his blonde hair nervously. Reluctantly, the blonde sat down beside Merlin who was gazing drearily out at the lake. It was common knowledge to Arthur by now that Merlin often went to the lake when he wanted some time to himself, or to ‘think’.

“You’re very quiet.” He observed nonchalantly, hands hooked over his knees.

Bowing his head, Merlin pursed his lips together in an attempt at a smile. It failed miserably. Arthur averted his vision towards the scenery ahead of them; the beautiful Crystal Lake, and the lush forests of Ealdor layering behind. The woodland really _was_ more beautiful than the tropical rainforests of the Amazon. He’d even go far enough to say that it was more spectacular than _any_ of theforests on earth put together. Finally lifting his head, Merlin sighed audibly.

“I’m sorry.” The very tone of his voice suggested worry. “I suppose I ought to be happy, we saved Léohte thanks to _you._ ”

Turning to Merlin awkwardly, Arthur twisted his lips. The Pendragon family weren’t exactly renowned for heart-to-hearts or deep conversations. He was still getting used to the kind of intimacy the druids had with each other, allowing himself to let go. He both liked and disliked it; letting emotions runs free across his skin, flourishing out in the open. Watching the druid observantly, Arthur prodded his shoulder lightly. He received no response, though he hadn’t really expected one. Nudging the raven-haired statue playfully, Arthur smiled freely; if his eyes were correct, he noticed Merlin’s own eyes crinkle a little.

“Merlin,” he cooed. “What’s wrong?”

Lowering his eyes, Merlin twiddled his fingers delicately. He and Arthur had become close. But there were things he had never told anybody, not even his father. This probing doubt of his destiny, of himself – it was something he feared he could never voice. For if he ever did, would it merely become a truth? Or would it be dismissed as a stupid thought and left to grow in his solitude? Swallowing-hard, he quickly spared a glance at Arthur who sat inquisitively next to him.

“It’s just...” Don’t say it. “…. you wouldn’t understand.”

Arthur had discovered a long time ago that the most effective way of making Merlin respond to him was when there was some level of humour or sarcasm in his tone. It made absolutely no sense, and he was positive no other relationship between druids or friends could possibly work in this bizarre way. Yet their peculiar balancing of teasing, and ‘banter’ as Gwaine called it, somehow was successful. Leaning back on his palms, Arthur smirked.

“ _Try me.”_

Merlin turned to face Arthur, who was leaning casually against a rock, head titled in curiosity. For a moment, the druid became enraptured with the spectacle of the sunlight radiating against his glowing skin, those bright sapphire eyes twinkling alluringly. His golden hair, gently sprayed over his forehead by the breeze, truly contributed to this marvel. Blinking rapidly, as if it would clear his mind of such thoughts, Merlin cast his eyes back to the lake. Then he realised, he should probably answer, or the prat was never going to leave him alone. He considered creating an elaborate lie, but his magic seethed at the notion. His trusted Arthur, Arthur was proving himself more and more each day. Arthur had shared many of his own burdens and secrets with Merlin; perhaps it would not be _un_ wise to return the gesture of trust and companionship. Frowning, he took a laboured breath as he decided to talk.

“I have a great destiny.” He began uncertainly, clenching his jaw in anticipation. “It’s one that scares me. One I feel I cannot possibly live up to, it’s _infinite_. (he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation) I am the son of Balinor, the son of a _Dragonlord._ And one day this power will be handed down to me, to watch over Ealdor, to protect the people…” his voice trailed off, eyes wide and expressionless as the words sunk into his skin. But it wasn’t _just_ that. Merlin wasn’t _just_ the future leader, a future dragonlord…he was also _Emrys._

Observing the man, Arthur felt an ironic smile tug his lips; _great power, great responsibility-_ didn’t _that_ sound very familiar. A sudden urge to tell Merlin everything erupted inside of him. What would Merlin say if he ever knew of the secret agenda? Would he be forgiven? His father would surely disown him if it failed. Arthur liked to pretend that he was in Ealdor because he belonged there, not because he was _ordered_ to belong there by his father with a hidden agenda. No. Panic flashed through his eyes and he was grateful Merlin was currently too engulfed in thought to notice. He couldn’t tell Merlin. It was too risky. He had to wait until he’d made his affirmation as one of the People, then they may all respect him enough to realise he was telling the truth, and leave safely. Once his Eftboren was complete – he could get them to move. But what if they _didn’t_ move? Just _thinking_ about the future made him sick, his vision blur, his pulse race. It was too much.

Beside Arthur, Merlin was toiling in his own troubles. _Emrys._ That was his destiny. Merlin tried to shrug the heavy name off, but it clung to him. His guard must have been pretty low because Arthur was fluently reading thought after thought running through his open mind.

“I know what it’s like you know…to have a destiny you,” searching the stars, Arthur grimaced. “A destiny you can’t escape.”

Though now, it felt like he was evading that destiny more and more each day. That’s what scared him. He feared one day it was going to pop out of nowhere and loom over him. Then the only thing he could do was _accept_ it, and fulfill it. Or was that even his destiny? _Was_ it his destiny to inherit Camelot Enterprise like he’d been told he would since birth? The longer he spent in Ealdor, the less appealing that sounded. Smiling sadly, Merlin toyed with one of the stones by his hand.

“Destinies,” he exhaled enigmatically, a breathy laugh creeping over his lips. “Are _troublesome_ things.”

Arthur leant towards Merlin, smiling warmly.

“Your great grandfather Vladimir – is it true what the ancient legend says?” he asked, hiding amusement when Merlin’s eyes doubled in size in astonishment.

“It may come as a surprise, but some of _þá útlendan_ doactually find the Druids fascinating.”

Arthur would never have thought himself to be one of _the_ people, yet now here he was, technically undergoing a major research project on the druids by becoming one himself. Then a realisation hit him. He’d called _his_ own people útlendan. Even Merlin seemed a little intrigued by his choice of words, and mused over it for a moment quietly.

“-How did you know about the Ancient Legends?”

Arthur laughed.

“The _æmryš_ of course.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows in incredulity- he may be a Pendragon but Merlin was positive that their sacred texts were _burnt_ and demolished in that world, any copy of that book would be destroyed. Arthur continued, noticing his friend’s silent objections.

“Morgana managed to salvage a copy in Venice, Leon’s been studying the copy for years. Plus since we got to Albion, Leon was allowed to have access to the vault of Druid books kept in Camelot, for purposes believed to aid the project.” Arthur shuddered a little at how much he sounded like his father with his corporate tone.

As much as Merlin wished to question Arthur about Uther and his motives, he found he could not. It was a touchy subject for the pair of them. Things were… _nice_ how they were. The past few months had been perfect- trapped in a bubble blissfully unaware of troubles and Camelot.

“Oh.” Merlin breathed, studying the wind’s caress over the lake.

“The Dragon that attacked us today, that was Kilgarrah wasn’t it?” Arthur hesitantly questioned, watching Merlin stiffen beside him.

The body language alone convinced him his assumptions had been right. Then it all became apparent; Kilgarrah had troubled Merlin because of his predicted destiny. Kilgarrah was a dragon, Merlin was a future dragonlord.

“Yes.”

Curiously, Arthur continued, sitting upright off the stone behind.

“But what about the White Dragon?”

Merlin turned his full attention to Arthur, spinning his body to face the blonde attentively.

“Aithusa?” Arthur nodded; Merlin scoffed rather dismissively. “Aithusa is just a _myth._ Nobody has _ever_ seen or found the White Dragon.”

At these words Arthur found _he_ was the one scoffing. Since entering Albion, virtually everything he had been taught to be fictitious or a _myth_ was real.

“You can’t surely believe that Kilgarrah is the last Dragon left?”

“He’s always here, watching over the land of Albion, summoned only in a time of great need…” Merlin paused. “by a Dragonlord.”

The shift in tone was obvious. Arthur watched Merlin’s admiration for Kilgarrah morph into dread and anxiety.

“So,” Arthur pried, unsure if he was about to be scolded for asking. “they’re going to put _you_ in charge of all of this when your father passes his powers down?”

“My father is a great man,” Merlin replied slowly. “he rules his people well, he’s wise and kind, I want him to be proud of me when I take over.”

Shrugging in acknowledgement, Arthur smiled lightly.

“I can understand that.” the thought of sharing a burden seemed to relax Merlin a little, falter his tense posture.

“You should try being in my shoes. I always have had to live up to what my father expected of me. I understand what he faces, and the decisions he has to make…”

Leaning over to Arthur, Merlin placed a hand tentatively on his knee. Arthur’s vision wavered from the smooth silky hand to those captivating blue eyes laced with poorly concealed hope. The emotional intensity and the sheer honesty of it strengthened the guilt consuming Arthur.

“Despite being the _insufferable prat_ you are, I have a feeling that you Arthur Pendragon, are going to do Earth proud, and make your own footsteps. Not follow in your father’s.” 

Taken-aback by the kind words executed with confidence, Arthur felt his lips curve upwards slightly, heart pounding. Attempting to detach himself from the fresh giddy feeling pulsating through his body, Arthur’s smile turned into a smirk. Raising his eyebrows, he peeled Merlin’s hand off his knee; he felt his body protest against his will.

“And,” he said, usual arrogance returning. “Despite _you_ being the bumbling buffoon that you’ve proven yourself to be _Mer_ lin,” his smirk grew when Merlin ducked his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. “I have no doubt that you will accomplish great things,” the hilarity between them faded, and Merlin glanced up into Arthur’s eyes, caution drizzling over his face.

“Things greater than any druid has ever accomplished before.” Merlin scoffed, causing Arthur to elaborate. “No _Merlin_ I’m being serious. Today in Saerion, you revealed yourself to be a _true leader,_ an inspiration to the people-”

“-I _can’t_ be an inspiration!” Merlin wailed. “I can’t even protect my own Wyvern from a _dragon!_ How can _I_ be Emrys when I am so flawed, when I’m… _Merlin-”_

“-I used to think that about myself too.” Arthur sighed, astounded by the man’s modesty. “People didn’t believe I could be Camelot’s next successor, people _still_ don’t believe. But I’ve learnt that there _are_ people who believe in me. Merlin, people _believe in you,_ I believe in you.”

Apprehensively, Arthur held his gaze into those blue orbs. Subconsciously, Merlin leant forwards a little. The pair were locked in a concentrated stare, unable to break the strange atmosphere that had began to build around them. His heart fluttered a little, Arthur felt his own body lean a little further forwards, never averting his eyes. And then Merlin suddenly spluttered into a laugh, diving away, a small blush spreading over his cheeks unknown to Arthur. Uneasy, confusion pelting him in the face- what was all _that_ about? – Arthur forced a laugh from himself. But his mind was reeling. Why was his heart _still_ pumping as if he’d just run a marathon? How was it that those few seconds, time slowed, becoming nothing but a concept in another world? It was almost as if they were going to-

“-What?” Arthur spluttered erratically, trying to flush out his recent insanity.

Turning back to Arthur, Merlin shot him a toothy grin, cheekbones defined spectacularly in the bright light.

“For a moment there, I thought we actually had something in common.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur pondered on those words, allowing this newfound bewilderment to enshroud him. Merlin’s words indicated he was talking about the conversation they had just had, but his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, his tone of voice highly perplexing, perhaps suggesting he was implying something completely different. Averting his gaze nervously, Arthur smiled weakly. Maybe Arthur Pendragon was just being too analytical as usual and overlooking a simple joke made by a friend. Yes. That was _definitely_ it. Arthur wouldn’t really call it scrutiny, but after intently examining the sculpted face of the raven-haired man, he was positive Merlin was consumed in the same confusion and uncertainty behind that goofy grin plastered over his face.

Nonetheless, Arthur replied in a similar fashion, which was rewarded with a lingering gaze.

“Yeah…me too.”

**♦☼♦**

“I fear he’s more powerful than you could have ever anticipated Uther.” The man said nervously as he entered the office. The fierce blonde woman beside the man titled her head oddly, eyes wide and ferocious. From the desk, Uther lifted his head to the man at the door.

“How so?”

The man’s heart was racing, sweat dripping from his face. Uther Pendragon had reassigned him, and though his new position was one that greatly worried him, he knew it was one that could potentially _save_ the people. Merlin didn’t _seem_ like a threat to Camelot, to the peace that would be formed between the two races – that was until he had demonstrated his true magical ability and command over the druids. Nonetheless, Uther had told him a terrible truth: that the druids were considering waging war against Camelot. It was _his_ trusted job to try and find a way to make peace between them, stop the frictions from forming, learn as much as he could without giving himself away.

Uther had requested him to search for a solution, he _insisted_ the last thing he wanted was war with the druids, and this was their _final_ chance at regaining peace with them ever again. It was a peace that had been built thousands of years ago. The man had wondered _why_ Uther Pendragon, the man who had condemned the druids, suddenly wanted peace and harmony. He assumed it was Arthur’s doing, and when Uther Pendragon revealed how significant the damage _could_ be to the druid’s if war _did_ break out – well, he was _obliged_ to do everything possible in his nature to try and _stop it._ There was _no way_ a war would break out, he had to make sure of it, no matter what Uther’s terms were.

“I’m waiting, Leon.” Uther said, voice low and full of irritation.

“He is the one you’re looking for. Merlin is _Emrys.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Fullmægen - Great power, powerful
> 
> PS - don't go hating on Leon, remember that nothing in this story is one-dimensional, including the problems and the plot. He's trying to do GOOD based on the lies Uther has fed him. If anything, admire his courage!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Dialogue and spoilers from 2x08 and 3x05 are used within this chapter. 
> 
> If you have my fanmix: Track 37- 40 ("I can Hear her" , Faerie Kingdom, Igraine, Sins of a Father.) 
> 
> This chapter is DARK - enjoy. Probably my FAVOURITE SCENE at the end, it was so fun to write Arthur in this way, so full of.... well you'll see! It was certainly fun.

 

 

The haunting, female voice echoed through his mind. At first it was quiet enough to be mistaken for the wind. For a moment, he _did_ mistake it to be the wind, believing he had resolved to hallucinations because that _voice_ had not plagued his dreams, harmonised his sleep for many weeks. An irrational, restlessness had been evoked inside of him. The absence of the voice singed his burning skin, leaving a dull ache each time his heart pumped blood through his veins. He _needed_ her; the voice had been a part of her he could not remember. The voice rolled over the shoreline, crashing against his reason, demolishing _any doubts._

_Arthur…Arthur…_

Shivers tickled his spine; the dull ache in his body grew tenfold. Opening his eyes, Arthur scanned the room cautiously, wishing for the source of the voice to magically appear before him. Nothing appeared, leaving him stranded in darkness, marooned on an island he was uncertain he would _ever_ leave. Reaching for the pendant around his neck, Arthur clasped tightly until the outline of the bird began to engrave itself onto his palm. It was his mother, he _knew_ it was. No matter what anyone said.

Merlin lay fast asleep on the other side of the room, seemingly unaware that his friend had been disturbed from sleep.

For a moment it was quiet, too quiet. He could feel the voice fading away helplessly. Desperately he shut his eyes and did _everything_ Merlin had told him to never do. He took down the barriers around his mind drastically smashing the walls, leaving it defenceless and susceptible. Immediately, he felt the rush of _something_ hover in his mind. It filled him up, overwhelming every one of his senses. The voice wasn’t talking, but it was _here._ He could feel it in the air around him. It reverberated through every inch of his body, exploring his mind. Inhaling a short breath at the strange sensation, Arthur tried to focus all his attention onto the voice.

_...Arthur, my Arthur._

The words ignited infinite happiness, and also infinite sadness, because Arthur knew how this particular story had ended. It was devastating, one of life’s worst tragedies. Clenching the necklace in his hands once more, Arthur exhaled a nervous breath.

 _Who are you- who are you to me?_ Even his _mind-_ voice stuttered urgently, unable to hide the emotions bottling up inside.

. _..Arthur…._

_-Are you my mother?_

It seemed apparent that the voice was either unable to hear him or some kind of holographic predetermined speech. Its response was almost mechanical, lacking in the usual warmth it had before.

… _My Arthur…_

Arthur clamped his eyes shut, panicking. He was unaware he was muttering aloud to himself, shaking slightly like a deluded, wild man.

_Answer me, please answer me!_

Nothing.

“Answer me, _answer me please.”_ He whispered, bringing his head down onto his clasped hands. His voice picked up volume when the silence was all that responded. “I need to know, I- I _need_ you to answer me!” he frantically searched for the voice inside his mind, creating a trail of destruction and chaos along each path he explored. The truth _hurt._ It hurt a hell of a lot more than he could ever admit. Any trace of its presence was now gone, _she_ was gone.

…would she ever return? _Could_ she?

Arthur didn’t sleep that night.

Or the next night (or the one after that).

The voice didn’t return, no matter how hard he pried into his mind.

He was terrified it never would return- that he’d lost her forever.

**♦☼♦**

It was four days since Arthur had last heard _the voice._ This one fact deprived him of sleep, slowly devouring his soul. Dark rims were threatening to form under his large, vacant eyes. A clump of untidy stubble was protruding from his face, not mention his skin was ashen, sickly in colour and depleted of vivacity. Nonetheless, he had to audacity to believe that as he walked alongside Merlin in the forest, he could pretend that everything was okay when it really wasn’t and Merlin wouldn’t _suspect a thing_. Somehow, he must have been _pretty convincing_ actorbecause Merlin hadn’t said a word. No. He _wasn’t_ a convincing actor, that much was clear. When he stopped to study his friend’s face, he half-assumed he was looking into a mirror, because the man before him looked just as he did.

Arthur understood why. Merlin was too consumed in his _own worries:_ Will, Léohte, preparing Arthur’s Eftboren, Emrys. The past few months had not been easy for him, and it wasn’t exactly a _secret_ that he had not taken Will’s departure well. To think that he had been _minutes_ from Will the last week – it angered Arthur. He wished the man would stop behaving like an ignorant child and confront his fears. In fact, the more Arthur thought about everything Merlin was enduring all at once, the worse he felt. Here he was, moping about a voice _in his head_ whilst Merlin was carrying far too many burdens and duties on his shoulders. Guilt malevolently wrapped itself around him. He had no right to be-

-Suddenly alert, Arthur gasped audibly, gazing wildly around the forest. This broke both of them from their own woes, allowing fate to throw them mercilessly back into reality. Motionless, impassive, Arthur stood.

“Arthur what is it?” Merlin asked urgently, leaning towards him. The blonde man before him resembled stone more than flesh; it was highly unnerving. “Arth-“

Holding a hand up towards Merlin, Arthur’s widened eyes scanned the forest. The sound echoed through his ears once more. However, unlike all the times before, it felt _real._ It didn’t feel like an illusive dream. The voice was _here;_ she was here. He inhaled a deep, shaky breath before turning towards the druid. All the sharp emotions seeping through his body were fully exposed on his face, leaving him vulnerable and uncertain. Shock wrecked his body. Instinctively, Merlin darted to his side, steadying Arthur as he trembled and dived to the ground. His body became a little limp; simple movements became clumsy, the world around disorientated. Arms wrapped around his torso, Merlin heaved the delirious man up. Arthur fell flaccid in his grip, eyes unfocused. Merlin scanned the pallid complexion in a newfound panic. It was as if Arthur had fallen into some kind of subconscious state.

“A-“ attempting to keep calm, he bit his lip and monitored his own breathing. “Arthur what is it?” he hissed, slapping the face gently in fear those glassy, vacant eyes would fall shut and he would lose any form of consciousness.

_Arthur…Arthur…_

Without warning, the man in his clutches broke free hastily and held a hand to his throbbing temple. His head burned, his body ached. Swallowing-hard, he lifted his eyes to Merlin, too consumed in his own suffering to notice his friend’s profound concern. It was happening now, what Hunith had spoken of.

“I can…” clamping his eyes shut to try and mask the discomfort inside his mind, Arthur sighed and tried again. “I can…I can _hear her_.”

Taking a step towards the blonde, Merlin intensified his gaze. There was no explanation needed to clarify who Arthur could hear. His eyes never left the watery orbs, sympathy and urgency flushing out the panic for Arthur’s health.

“I’m coming with you.”

Arthur attempted to laugh, no sound came out. Instead his head slightly raised up, then lowered back down, a smile on his lips. It was the closest to a laugh he could get. Of course Merlin would come with him, loyal idiot. The miniscule smile perished instantly. Their gaze became electrified, sending a tingle up the blonde’s spine. In the few seconds that passed, he dowsed himself in those twinkling sapphires, touched by what he found sifting between the smear of colours. Right now, in the blinding sunlight, Merlin looked like a reverent Angel.

His skin was radiant in the light, _blinding._ His aura emitted safety and assurance, _always_ without fail. Merlin was the guardian angel sent by the Gods to save his soul and guide him towards the path of righteousness. He was the one who would rescue him from collapsing into perdition, constantly reminding him of the light. He was the reminder in darkness, a reminder that in times of darkness, a beacon will _always_ be burning. Averting his eyes to the lips, then back to the eyes, Arthur fondly rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The silent, unspoken words passed between them, warming his heart. Arthur Pendragon really didn’t know what he would do without Merlin. Not that he’d _ever_ admit it. Right now however, he allowed Merlin to look beyond their petty arguments and ridiculous tirades to see into his true self.

Breaking the contact, Arthur studied their surroundings nervously.

“How do I find her Merlin?”

Eyes boring into the back of the blonde’s head, the druid furrowed his brow. 

“ _Listen_ to the voice Arthur, let her find you.”

**♦☼♦**

“We’re getting closer I can feel it!” Arthur shouted breathlessly to the druid behind him, sprinting through the forest at a frantic pace.

Struggling to keep up with the man’s athletic pace, Merlin panted. They had been running for _so long._ The familiarity of the forest had quickly shifted into something new, something dripping with intense magic. The archaic forests of Ealdor melted into a confusing mesh of tall, thin trees. Sunlight failed to light the area properly, creating a disorientating hue. As he ran, Merlin saw the thin trees merge into one black blob from the corners of his eyes. This only dizzied him further. The thought that he had never wandered this far from Ealdor by foot also concerned him. He genuinely had _no idea_ where they were. There were no signs of life or civilisation anywhere.

“Arthur.” He gasped in relief as the man in front came to a halt, spinning around to pinpoint their route with grit determination.  

Merlin’s eyes dejectedly noticed the distinctive ashen boulder to their right. Catching his breath, he shook his head.

“We….we’ve passed that boulder _six_ times now.” Lugging in a huge breath of air, he continued. “We’re going round in circles.”

Arthur ignored him, crouching down to the ground to sieve the golden soil through his fingertips. Bringing the fingers to his lips, he shut his eyes in a deep focus. They were so close now; he could sense not just the voice but also a presence. The magic _inside_ him was bursting with energy. Contorting his face, he opened his eyes and threw the remaining sand from his hand on the ground sullenly. It was frustrating, being _so close_ – he almost felt paradoxically further away than ever before. A flash of understanding rimed his eyes, and he stood up. He cast one final look at a fatigued Merlin before breaking into a run.

“This way!” he roared, not bothering to check the druid had followed him.

Shoving the low-lying branches from his way, Arthur ploughed forwards obstinately. The thin dark trees shadowing over them gradually lightened in hue. Merlin’s eyes widened at the scenery unfolding. Tiny white flowers began to appear, until they completely covered the ground. Beautiful trees, similar to silver birch and cherry blossoms covered the landscape. Their bodies were white, and their branches were sprinkled with pale pink and white blossom. The forest was shallow in height, allowing sunlight to pour through the cracks of the branches. It created alluring slits of light against the already striking luminosity. Arthur slowed into a walk, studying the enrapturing forest around them. It was a heavenly sanctuary. Gaping, Merlin reached out to the blossom. He met Arthur’s eyes; they echoed similar astonishment. 

“Where are we?” Arthur asked the druid softly, the whispering breeze swept over them soothingly.

“I…I don’t know.” Merlin blinked slowly, indulging in the expanse of white forest, blooming in innocence and true beauty. “I’ve never been here before, or heard of a place like it.”

All of a sudden, the gentle breeze strengthened. Blossom was plucked from the trees, swirling around the pair in a vortex embedded with a peculiar sparkle. Arthur had seen that sparkle before, as had Merlin. It resembled faerie dust. An eerie whispering slipped through the air; the wind pushed the pair forwards effortlessly. A blinding light flickered ahead. Both Merlin and Arthur lifted their hands to shield their eyes, though they were too curious to properly blockade the light. The wind fizzled out, the blossom falling to the ground by their feet. Out of the blossom trees, a handful of faeries emerged, all matching the colour of the blossom. Their glitter was mesmerising in the intense light. Merlin strode forwards instantly. As he approached them he greeted the creatures with a gracious bow and a few words in the druid tongue Arthur had not heard before. Arthur bowed his head nervously; showing correct etiquette towards these divine beings was important.

The faeries hovered around them. One of them stood out from the crowd due to its sheer aura. A crown was on its head, her wings and clothes embodied with precious shiny jewels. Her long magenta hair was a contrast against her paled skin. She returned the gesture gracefully, whispering behind her enigmatic smile. Her slender face was the embodiment of beauty. She had a small, delicate nose and large cerise eyes. Merlin seemed to recognise her. His eyes were soft; smile blinding. This faerie had been one of his favourite bedtime characters, filling his dreams with hope and joy.

_Emrys._

The whispering moulded into a sweet, docile voice, drifting through their ears. Merlin met her elusive eyes in disbelief. Deciding against speaking aloud, afraid he would not find the words, he opened his mind.

_Princess Lucinda. Pray, tell us where we are?_

The faerie – _Princess_ Lucinda – drifted closer to the man, her smile was warm and consoling.

_You are in the kingdom of the Faeries, sacred dwelling of the spirits. Very few have ever found our forest, or have had good reason to come here._

She turned her attention to the blonde man beside Merlin, and nodded knowingly. It seemed she was fully aware of their reasoning for being here.

_She is waiting for you._

Gazing at the faerie, Arthur’s expression hardened. There was no ambiguity in her words. His mother was here. His mother was _waiting_ for him. She leant towards him, wings fluttering an array of glitter across the air.

_You have nothing to fear, young Pendragon. Continue forwards into the light, there she will meet you._

With that, Lucinda and the other faeries fell back into the endearing trees, their whispering leaving a tingle in the air. Hesitantly, Arthur turned to Merlin, a grimace on his face. Here he was, _seconds_ away from meeting the most influential woman in his life, the woman he had never known. His hands rested at the necklace round his neck. Pulling it out from his top, he smoothed over the bird pensively. Merlin admired the necklace from a distance, compassion etched over his face. He had been lucky enough to have both his mother and his father in his life.

“You can do it Arthur.” He said, surprised by the sudden panic spreading over the blonde’s eyes.

“You’re coming with me.” Arthur stated, as if it was not a question despite the layers of doubt percolating within the tone.

Moved by the words, by the notion that Arthur wanted Merlin to witness something so _personal,_ Merlin nodded silently. The pair walked forwards to the blinding light. Arthur was the first to pass through it, landing on a dimly lit plateau of green grass. To his left a stone table stood, littered in candles. It had four deep engravings across, gothic in style and shaped like draping cathedral windows. Roots of the tree behind it had crawled onto the stone, adding to the ethereal atmosphere. Whatever this place was, it was sacred. Merlin stumbled in, eyes drifting over the stone table, examining the abnormal space around them. It was as if they were confined in a room, but they weren’t, because they could see the sky above. Wherever there were, the magic here was _strong,_ overwhelmingly so. Turning to Merlin, Arthur let out a shallow breath.

“She’s not he-“

“-Arthur.” A fragile, female voice rang in his ears.

Her voice was beautiful aloud, more beautiful and sweet than he could have ever imagined. Her syllables were decorated with kindness, voice swathed in something he had never known on earth- maternal love. Part of him was convinced this couldn’t be real. Merlin’s expression suggested otherwise, his eyes full of reverence, fixated on behind Arthur. Swallowing-hard, Arthur slowly moved his eyes towards the voice. What if he wasn’t who she wanted him to be? What if she was _ashamed_ of him, or worse disappointed? His palms were clammy, his heartbeat erratic. For a moment overwhelming nausea overcame his system, threatening to plummet him into darkness.

It all stopped when he cast eyes upon her.

There she was. His eyes weren’t sure where to start; she was more beautiful than any photograph he had ever been shown. She was dressed in a flattering golden dress, the bodice laden with jewels. Her pale skin gleamed in the candlelight hypnotically, a contrast to the colour of the dress. He _had_ inherited his mother’s eyes, just like his father said. The only difference being her eyes were far more striking, gleaming enigmatically in the dim light. Her blonde hair was tied up in a regal bun, small strands on either side of her face dangling down. The candlelight mapped out the delicate structure of her face, the high cheekbones, the dainty nose, the modest lips. His mother- Igraine Pendragon. It was her. He was confident not even magic could not conjure such a vivid depiction of her. She gazed at him with an abundance of affection. Arthur wasn’t sure who ran first, but in a matter of agonisingly long seconds, the pair were locked in a tight embrace.

“Mother.” He whispered, the word sounding foreign on his lips. Pulling him closer, the woman cradled the back of his head with her soft hands.

“Oh _Arthur._ The last time I held you, you were a tiny baby.”

Releasing her from his arms, he studied her angelic face, tears building in his eyes. Instinctively, she reached for his eyes, smoothing over the skin below to catch them attentively. Her warm palm rested on his cheek, rubbing the skin tenderly. Arthur felt a wave of calm wash over him. Now that he knew what it felt like, the gentle, assuring caress of his mother would leave a dull ache in his chest forever. He was sure of it. Lowering his gaze, Arthur choked on the swell in his throat. The melancholy crashed over him, the _guilt_. This beautiful woman had died, and it was all his doing.

“I’m sorry. I cannot _bear_ the thought that you died because of me.”

Igraine’s eyes softened, but her composure melted. Holding his face in both her hands, she shook her head swiftly.

“Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for what happened-”

“-If I wasn’t born, you would still be _alive.”_ The tears streaming from his face muffled his words a little.

Merlin stood silently, unsure if Igraine had noticed his presence. He felt slightly awkward watching something so intimate unfolding. He had never seen Arthur like this, so vulnerable and helplessly clouded by emotions. The next words of Igraine introduced a dark, sinister aura that spread around them.

“It’s your father who should bear the guilt, not you.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur examined the look on his mother’s face. It was severe and urgent. Blinking away the tears, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”

Sighing, she smiled weakly. It was not a smile of happiness, but one of sadness. Removing her hands from his face, she lowered them to her side, eyes unable to meet his.

“Arthur,” she hissed, evidently trying hard to conceal a bitter edge to her tone. “There is something you must know. It is why I have been unable to rest, why I called you.”

Curiosity shadowing over him, Arthur tightened his grip on her shoulders, searching her eyes imploringly.

“What is it mother-“

Igraine laughed darkly, bringing a hand to her trembling lips.

“-I can’t believe he never told you-“

“-Mother-“

“-He let you think it was _your_ fault all this time!” her voice was engulfed by a sudden rage. She looked at her son, and pride swelled in her chest. He had grown into a fine, handsome young man. But he was not built of just flesh and blood; he was built up of memories. Memories that she would never know, memories she never had the chance to create, memories that shaped his future and made him the man he was today. This barrier between them made him seem a complete stranger. It broke her heart. Softening her voice, she continued. 

“Arthur. I am infertile, I cannot conceive.” 

Both Merlin and Arthur’s eyes widened at this declaration. Unable to construct proper sentences, the blonde man stammered weakly.

“W-what… _how…_ ” Arthur’s words trailed off vacantly, hurt lingered in his eyes.

“We tried _everything –_ nothing worked. Your father was desperate for a son, an _heir_ to take over Camelot Enterprise when it was his time to resign…” she snapped her mouth shut abruptly as if she believed she had said too much.

Detecting the hesitance, Arthur leant forwards and cupped her face lovingly with his hands. Her skin was like satin. She offered him a bleak smile, eyes shining with fresh tears. The sight of his mother on the verge of tears upset him greatly. And then it _angered_ him. It was no secret who had caused this, his father.

“…What did he do?” he tried maintaining as much composure as he could, at first. But when she averted her eyes and spilt the first tear, his blood boiled. The fire in his soul was unleashed, setting their surroundings ablaze.

“Mother, you _must_ tell me.”

“He betrayed me.” She replied solemnly. “He collaborated with a sorceress, asking to conceive a child-“

“-No.” Arthur breathed. He released his mother, fists clenched.

From the outskirts of the conversation, Merlin was horrified by the words of Igraine. Her own husband had been so desperate to keep the Business running, a business that _tortured_ druids, he had turned to what he hated most for help. Worst of all, he had meddled with the course of life and death. For a life to be given, one _had_ to be taken. It was the ancient laws of magic. Then the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle came together. The words of Balinor floated into the forefront of his mind. It all made sense now….

“Nimueh….” Merlin uttered. _Nimueh_ was the sorceress Uther had called on, the lady of legend who was known to have suffered immensely under his hand. Perhaps that was why Morgause was keen to stay on Uther’s good side, appeasing him and aiding his plans.

Arthur was unsure how much more he could take. His mother…his mother had died because of his father’s pride. He was shaking, pacing back and forth whilst his mother tried to console him. Pulling him into her clutches, she held his hands.

“You were born of _magic_ Arthur.”

Arthur froze, his eyes wide in shock. The world around him became a blur. He was…conceived through magic. Magic. It all made sense. _That_ was why he could do magic, why he could learn the spells that Merlin had taught him. It wasn’t because he was _chosen for greatness;_ it was because he had magic _in his veins_. The thought sickened him. All this time he had been taught to hate magic, to oppress those who used it – when his own _father_ had used it, when he himself was _made_ through magic. He _was_ magic, he was closer to the druids than he’d ever be to anyone on earth. It was too much to contemplate right now. Shaking his head in despair, Arthur let slip a supressed groan of unrest.

“I won’t believe it. I… _no._ ”

“To create a life, a life must be taken. Your father knew that.”

Distraught, Arthur pressed a hand to his mouth, unsuccessful in steadying his breathing. _Shit._ Igraine hadn’t died due to childbirth- it was something far more sinister. Merlin took a step forwards in concern, but remained in the background of the situation. He did not want to disturb the scene; worst of all disturb Igraine’s spirit. Igraine took her son’s hand, kissing it gently. The affection broke Arthur.

“He…he sacrificed you _knowingly_ for a son…a successor.”

“I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry Arthur.” She drew him into her arms, holding him as close as she could. It was all she could do to prepare him for her next words.

“But there’s more.”

Lifting his head off her shoulder, he hauled in a large breath, afraid the dizziness embracing him would knock him out, and she would be gone forever. Part of him had been foolish to believe that they would be able to spend the precious time talking about themselves, learning more about each other.  She spotted the Merlin necklace dangling from his chest and traced her fingers over it absently. For a moment her eyes were full of fondness. It faded when she removed her hand.

“Morgana. She is not what she appears.” Pause. “She is his flesh and blood.”

Merlin titled his head forwards in shock, watching the strong man before him crumble further into a chaotic shell.

“She’s my _sister?”_ Arthur gasped. _Half-_ sister technically. However, now was not the time to be pedantic. The magnitude of this fact pelted him in the face, pushing him backwards. Morgana and himself were but a year apart. He was the oldest, she wasn’t _that_ far behind him. Which had to mean _before_ his mother’s death, before he had been _born_ -

“-He betrayed you, dishonoured your _name_!” he cried out in sudden frenzy. “How could he do this?!”

No reply came. Igraine kissed his head lightly. Arthur released the woman, falling to the ground. He pressed a hand to his excruciating temple, allowing the restrained bottled up tears to flow. All this time, his father had lied. His father had lied about _everything._ His poor mother had been violated. The wonderful, lovely woman who had given birth to him was exchanged for his own life without any thought. Digging his fingernails into the ground, he was incapable of controlling the emotions in his body. His heart was bleeding from a wound inflicted by a dark secret. The pain of the situation grew too much. Fastening his eyelids together tightly, Arthur cried out unwillingly, breath ragged. In a matter of seconds his cries escalated into despairing sobs.

_I will always be with you Arthur…_

Opening his eyes frantically, Arthur lunged at the source of the voice, collapsing onto the ground. His mother was nowhere in sight, the surrounding area empty and dull. Panic clouded his mind. He pushed himself to his feet, outstretching a hand towards where she had once stood.

“Come back.” He ordered into the silence.

Nothing.

“ _Please_ come back.” His voice cracked octaves as he spoke, rough and bruised.

A hand grasped his shoulder. Spinning around hopefully, he was graced with Merlin’s morose face. Their eyes met steadily, Arthur found himself unable to protect himself from exposure. Merlin was witnessing his _raw,_ unrefinedemotions. His defences had been obliterated, revealing the catastrophic damage inside. The druid looked almost as distraught as he was, eyes watery and lips pulled into a tight line. Parting his lips, mouth dry, Merlin searched for the right words to say, for something, _anything_ to say. A fragmented ‘Arthur’ was all that left his lips. Arthur heard it, the _pity,_ the way he simply had _no idea_ what to say. It dampened his spirits. The blonde inched out of Merlin’s grasp, eyes cold and distant.

“My whole life is a lie.” He admitted darkly, eyes widening at the realisation. “MY LIFE IS A LIE!” he roared, voice echoing around the clearing. Grabbing the necklace from around his neck, he tossed it forcefully onto the ground. Holding a trembling hand to his temple, Arthur swallowed-hard. His syllables were fractured, words rough to the ears as he whispered.

“ _I’m_ a lie-“

Stepping forwards boldly, Merlin reached for the necklace, heart racing as he ran his fingers across the delicately engraved Merlin bird. He wouldn’t let Arthur believe this.

“-That’s _not true_ Arthur,” he placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, only to have it shoved off forcefully. Gripping the necklace in his hands, Merlin frowned. “You’re a great man, with a great destiny.”

Arthur _laughed,_ this time he was able to commit to the gesture; he saw Merlin wince at the harshness of it from the corner of his eyes. Destiny and Merlin’s talk of sunshine and rainbows was the _last_ thing he wanted to hear right now. Making his way to the stone alter table, he leant his knuckles against the stone, head bowed. Merlin remained put, unsure how to approach the wild, unpredictable man. Abruptly his hands slashed across the table, knocking the candles down aggressively. They fell, flames dwindling out into nothingness. The fire was gone; all that held him together was now darkness, _emptiness._

“Destiny.” Arthur muttered ominously, chewing the word in his mouth, tasting its components, examining its consistency. Funny. Destiny didn’t feel fucking consistent right now.

“Destiny,” he repeated, only this time the word was brittle and injured as he spat it out his mouth.The syllables meshed close together; a slight elongation of the ‘y’ as it screamed for help. Arthur ignored it, turning from the table. “There’s no such thing as destiny Merlin,” taking another step towards the druid, his words quickened. “When are you going to fucking wake up and see the world for what it is?!” Drawing his eyebrows together, Merlin gazed at the dishevelled man in anguish. “People _do not_ change, times _do not_ change. It’s all the same do you hear me?!”

The druid recoiled at the abrupt change in Arthur’s voice; he was now thriving in this newfound rage.

“There is no good in this world. I was wrong to have trusted magic, wrong to have trusted _anybody-“_ that was enough to snap Merlin out of silence.

“-Arthur.” He growled, levelling his own voice to meet the blonde’s. He was _not_ going to let Arthur throw away all he had learnt so easily. “You’re wrong, you’re not _thinking_ straight-”

“- _You’re wrong.”_ The blonde snapped back, eyeing his friend dangerously. “Life is evil, _magic_ is evil. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

Throwing his hands despairingly into the air, Merlin blinked rapidly to avoid the tears streaming down his face.

“ _How_ can you _say_ that? How can you just dismiss everything you believe in?”

Glowering at the druid, Arthur clutched the druid by his shirt belligerently.

“How do _you_ know what I believe in, _Emrys-“_

Merlin’s eyes darkened, upset streaked over his face. Pushing himself out of the man’s grasp, he glared at Arthur threateningly. How _dare_ he bring this up, now of all times, when _he knew_ Merlin’s resilience had been breaking down.

“- _Don’t_ call me Emrys-“

Grinning sadistically, Arthur pulled Merlin back into his clutches, toying with the druid. Their faces were close, Arthur’s ragged breath fanned over his face. Arthur moved his hands to Merlin’s face, holding him in place. Averting his gaze, Merlin gulped a lungful of air nervously, _furiously._ He could cast _one spell_ and Arthur would be propelled backwards at any moment. But he wouldn’t, because what Arthur needed right now was something to trust.

“-Why?” eyes never leaving Merlin’s face, Arthur raised is eyebrows questioningly. He received no answer, only Merlin’s sad eyes. “Does it make you feel small-“

“- _Arthur-“_

“-Or…” the blonde laughed resentfully, pacing back from Merlin. The druid stumbled back, one hand pressed to his sore face. “Does it make you feel all _high and mighty_ , knowing how great _your_ fucking destiny is? How every druid thinks you are the equivalent of Jesus, the _savoir_ of their kind.” Merlin shuddered, feeling the tears prickle against his eyes. This was hardly _fair_. Knowing he’d hit a weak spot, Arthur heartlessly continued with this emotional assault.

“Well guess what _Merlin,_ you and your little magical friends need to wake up to reality. You are not special. _None_ of you are special. If anything you’re outcasts, rejects of modern society.”

Merlin wanted to tell himself Arthur didn’t mean it. He was _angry,_ upset. Merlin was the only person available to lash out at, the only person he could emotionally pummel. The words stabbed his heart viciously, increasing the likelihood for his body to succumb to the tears. Somehow, Merlin restrained his emotions, speaking hoarsely over the distress building in his body.

“You’re angry. I’m trying to understand Arthur, _really_ I am but I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. You have to listen to me and not do anything-“

“-Shut-up.” Arthur spat, turning away from him.

“-Arthur-“

“-SHUT-UP.”

Arthur walked through the blinding light back into the tranquil forests. Merlin followed. But he did not shut-up. Arthur wasn’t thinking clearly, he needed someone to at least _try_ and ground him before he did something he would regret. He continued talking. As he spoke, Arthur strode forwards resolutely, eyes blazing with fury. He resembled a man on a mission; a _dangerous,_ very angryman who should not be meddled with.

“Your father still loves Igraine-“

Arthur spun back around viciously.

“-No he doesn’t. If he still loved her then Morgana, my _sister_ , wouldn’t be here.”

Resting a hand on his shoulder, Merlin frowned.

“Please _stop_ it Arthur this won’t solve anything-”

Forcefully, Arthur wrapped his hand around Merlin’s wrist, burning the skin in a tight vice grip. He shoved the hand away with brute strength, too livid to fully control his actions or restrain himself.

“-What part of _shut-up_ don’t you fucking understand? This has _nothing_ to do with you so keep your fucking nose out of it.”

Failing to notice Merlin’s anguish, he began to utter a spell, a very familiar spell. Widening his eyes, Merlin gasped. When the spell was finished, the blonde glared menacingly into the distance.

“I think it’s time I paid my _father_ a little visit.”

Rushing forwards, Merlin lunged for Arthur desperately.

“-NO!”

But he was too late.

Arthur Pendragon had teleported back to Camelot Base, to confront his father in blinded fury. Merlin supposed any other druid would have been thrilled at this prospect. All he felt was panic and dread. Not even Lucinda could stop the tears that slid down his face.

Arthur was going to kill Uther Pendragon.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to "Gotham's Reckoning" by hans Zimmer (youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfyCeDlwPEs) or if you have my fanmix it's TRACK 41: Arthur Confronts Uther.

He entered the room quietly, expertly weaving his way around the door in a manner that avoided unnecessary sound. For a moment he just stood there, staring at the man. His eyes were watery and he could barely control his shaking body. Every part of him was on edge, everything inside hurt. His mother was dead, she had been ruthlessly sacrificed- it was all Uther Pendragon’s fault.

“Ah Arthur. There you are,” the man said in relief, too engrossed in the paperwork on his table to look up and see the stern expression. He continued sorting out the piles on the desk. “I suppose you’ve come to tell me good news.”

Silence.

Raising his eyebrows, Uther gazed up at his son expectantly. Instantly he knew something was wrong. His son’s face was rife with anger, eyebrows drawn close, teeth gritted together. The blonde hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat; his eyes were blotchy and reddened. The eyes were the most shocking, for they were _burning,_ searing with something. Calculatedly, Arthur placed his hands on each side of the desk with a feigned calmness. He looked more like a predator waiting to strike its prey, dangerous and deceptive. Uther almost felt unnerved by this.

“I know what you did to my mother.” He spat each word out bitterly, eyes locking threateningly on the man before him.

Standing up gradually, Uther met his son’s gaze.

“What are you talking about-“

“-You were so _desperate_ for an heir you were prepared to use magic-“

“-Whoever told you this is lying.” Uther barked dismissively, waving a hand towards his son who loomed closer.

“My mother is _dead_ because of your selfishness and arrogance. Her blood is on your hands.”

  **♦☼♦**

Merlin landed in an empty, disused room of Camelot Base. He made his way towards the door urgently, walking out into the corridor. He didn’t bother looking if anyone was there. He knew this was reckless, walking amongst those who could imprison him any moment. But he had to _find_ Arthur, fast. Arthur was going to make a huge mistake; he had to stop him. Breaking into a frantic run, he sped through the dreary corridors. This merely led to _more_ corridors and useless signs that didn’t actually _specify_ where everything was. Finding Uther’s office was going to be the biggest problem, this place was _huge._

“Merlin!” A voice called out in blatant surprise.

Merlin skidded to a halt, darting round to meet Morgana – Arthur’s _sister._ Yes he could see it now. Her eyes were laced in confusion, sensing the panic in his system as she rushed towards him cautiously.

“What are you _doing_ here?”

“There…he…I…where’s Uther’s office?” he said quickly, heart pounding in his chest.

“You can’t be serious Merlin.” She replied sternly. “If Uther knew you were _here_ he would take you straight to the lab himself-“

Right now, he hardly cared about his own wellbeing.

“-It’s Arthur. He’s going to do something _terrible_ I have to stop him. _Please!_ Morgana, you have to take me there.” Morgana chewed on her lip, uncertain.

“Now Morgana!” he demanded with a hint of wild anger. There was no time to talk or dwell on this. He had minutes, possibly _seconds._

Nodding, she gestured to the corridor behind them.

“Follow me.”

**♦☼♦**

“I have heard enough of this!” Uther demanded, voice ominous, eyes fierce.

But Arthur was no longer afraid of him or his authority. After all this man had done, he had no right to command Arthur, to tell him what to do. Snarling, he kept his distance from the man. Everything was all clear now. The labs, the way he treated the druids.

“This is what fuels your hatred for magic. Rather than blame yourself for what _you_ did, you blame them.”

Uther appeared unaffected by the statement, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“I should have never let you near the druids, they have clearly enchanted you.”

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. Camelot Enterprise was founded on disruption and lies. This whole project was a sham; the whole _business_ was worthless and immoral. Finally, he was not afraid to accept the truth. A wave of relief washed over him, _freedom._ He was no longer chained to the will of this man. This man had pushed him around like a pawn on his chessboard long enough. Now the pawn was taking a stand, fighting back with his battalion. The pawn was now a _knight,_ a knight for justice.

“You have captured hundreds of innocent druids, extracting their magic, torturing them for answers, testing them and _god knows_ what else you haven’t allowed me to see-“

“-Those that practice magic are evil.” Uther recited, holding a hand out warily.

Clenching his fists, Arthur took a step towards the man, finger pointed in an accusatory manner.

“You’re nothing but a hypocrite and a liar-”

“-I am your _father._ ” Uther growled menacingly.

A few weeks ago, a few _days_ ago these words would have crumbled any resistance building inside Arthur. He would have succumbed to his father obediently, bending under his will to do what he was told- like a good son. The words recoiled brutally; they lay obliterated on the floor, murdered savagely between the two men. Lifting his head defiantly, Arthur reached back for the blade in his belt, ignoring the flash of alarm in the other’s eyes.

“I no longer think of myself as _your son.”_

**♦☼♦**

“How far are we?” Merlin snapped, walking briskly beside the woman.

Anxiety was consuming his body, swallowing any hint of optimism and bleak hope. His wrist was still sore from Arthur’s firm grip. He could feel the bruising forming around it. As usual, Merlin was selfless. He ignored it. He didn’t even _blame_ Arthur for it. The man had just been told horrific news from his deceased mother who had vanished from sight as quick as she appeared. The whole situation was tumultuous and messy, yet alone complicated.

“A few more minutes.” She replied, heavily disliking this side of Merlin. However, the reasoning for his behaviour panicked her. He had mentioned Arthur and Uther- she had not questioned him. The words burst from her mouth spontaneously.

“What’s going on Merlin?”

“We don’t _have_ a few more minutes, it’ll be too late.” He hissed under his breath, suddenly breaking into an agitated run.

“Merlin?!” Morgana yelled after him.

**♦☼♦**

“I want nothing to do with you and this company. The deal is off. I’m not doing your dirty work ever again, just because you asked me to. I’m through with all this shit. I’m through with Camelot, for _good._ Consider this my resignation with immediate effect- _”_ Arthur spat, hand tightly gripping the blade in his belt.

“Arthur-“

“-Find yourself a new heir. Though I’m sure you won’t need to look _too_ hard…” his eyes pierced mercilessly through his father’s. The recognition of what Arthur _really_ meant struck Uther in the chest, panic and shock sprawled over his face. _Morgana._ Before he could conceal it, Arthur saw it. It was a confirmation of _everything,_ and it disgusted Arthur. The man’s resolve broke quickly, his words lacking in their austerity. Funny, Arthur seemed to now be in command of the situation.

“Arthur. _Think_ about this logically. These accusations against me, you have no proof. I am your father-“

Arthur thought to pull the gun from his belt out and get it over with quickly. Instead he reached for the blade savagely, pointing its sharpened edge towards the man ruthlessly. His mother had died a slow and painful death, why should his father’s not be the same? Defenceless, Uther paced backwards slowly, well aware of his son’s agility and vigour.

“- _Don’t move!”_ Arthur yelled authoritatively. “Don’t fucking move.” At his words, his father became motionless. “Or I will strike you down where you stand.”

Their eyes met, Arthur’s full of darkness and Uther’s overwhelmed with apprehension. His son looked like a ferocious killer, insatiable and totally possessed by anger. Unable to hold his gaze, the man averted his eyes back to the sword in his son’s hands. He swallowed-hard.

“You wouldn’t kill me.” Uther said cautiously, holding his hands up to gesture surrender.

At this challenge Arthur tightened his grip on the blade, striding forwards.

“-ARTHUR!” the doors burst open dramatically.

Merlin rushed towards Arthur hysterically, not caring that Uther Pendragon was in the room. The blonde man clutched the sword tighter, not looking over towards the druid.  

“Arthur, don’t! _Please.”_

“You saw what he’s responsible for Merlin, everything he’s _done!”_ Arthur cried, tears welling in his eyes, anger melting away into melancholy. It took a hell of a lot of force to keep the sword upright in his trembling hands. “How can you show him mercy? After what he’s done to Gaius, to _your_ people?”

Grimacing, Merlin caught Uther’s eyes. Instead of the expected hatred and fury, Merlin found curiosity. This didn’t settle him, it made him feel anxious. Turning his attention to back to Arthur, he placed his hand gently onto one of the broad shoulders.

“This is not what your mother would want you to do-“

“-He’s right.” Uther muttered, instigating a final outlet of anger from Arthur.

“-Don’t speak. I don’t _ever_ want to hear your voice again.”

Another figure entered the room, stunned at the sight. Arthur had Uther cornered, sword dangerously close to his father. She remained silent, too shocked to find words. Her eyes drifted from a furious Arthur, a cowering Uther and a bold Merlin who was standing beside the blonde man.

“Arthur. _Drop it_.” His low voice mimicked the tone a person would use to speak to a disobedient animal. Outstretching his palms, his eyes flickered gold tauntingly. _“Don’t_ make me use my magic.”

Wearily, Arthur pushed the blade back into his belt, turning to Merlin desperately. Realisation flooded over him, the demonic rage that had possessed him faded. His eyes darted towards the reddened wrist, then to those watery eyes and guilt consumed him. Then shameless need for Merlin washed over him. He was a fool to have pushed him away. Merlin was right, as usual. He should have listened to him. After how appallingly he had treated the druid, he had _still_ risked his life for him by entering Camelot Base to come and talk sense into him.

Shaken, Arthur stared at Merlin blankly, unsure what exactly to feel or to say. All feelings were stripped from him. Merlin effortlessly skimmed through the emotions battling savagely inside Arthur. He could see it all, the turmoil he felt for what he had done, what he had _almost_ done, for everything he _hadn’t_ done. Turmoil for everything he _could’ve_ done to protect the druids, or _should’ve_ done because the whole concept of druid containment and magical extraction was _wrong_ , or everything he _would’ve_ already done if he’d known any better. Smiling gently, Merlin lowered his palm and extended it towards Arthur kindly.

“Arthur, let’s go.”

Let’s go. Let’s go back. Back home. Ealdor. Merlin. _Yes._ Needed home. Needed Ealdor…needs Merlin. Needs Merlin more than ever before. Arthur gazed back at his father, eyes wide and face grim. Not bothering to bid farewell, or part with his father on any kind of terms, the blonde met Merlin’s eyes and nodded fiercely. Morgana took a step forward, eyes glistening pleadingly. _Don’t leave me here._ Never in her life had she felt so distant to her closet friend, so alien and awkward. The sight of him scared her. She’d never seen him like this. Whatever Uther had done, it must have been horrific. One thing she knew for sure, she didn’t want to stay here anymore. She felt isolated, alone. Leon was becoming more distant, Gwaine and Lance spent more and more time in Ealdor each day, and she barely saw _Arthur._ Arthur, dazed, latched onto her sad eyes hazily and felt his words trip over themselves in exhaustion.

“I…m b’ck fooooor yoo. ‘romise.”

Hurrying over to support a shaky Arthur, Merlin turned to the distraught woman in an apologetic manner, drenched in a plea for her to understand. He knew she would not. How could she? She knew little of the events unfolding. If she did, he feared he would be fighting off _two_ Pendragon’s trying to kill their father. Morgana bit her lip nervously and sighed, leaning towards Arthur in concern. A sharp pain singed her mind, the assuring voice of Merlin echoed through her tingling body.

_I have to take him back Morgana, I’m sorry. But remember you are never alone. Arthur cares a great deal for you, I care for you. When Arthur is ready he will return and repair the damage inflicted by his father’s hand. We won’t leave you here. I promise we’ll be back._

With that, Merlin’s eyes hastily lit up a brilliant gold, the surroundings around them shifting as they were pulled into the vortex of spinning colours and disorientating patterns. The frenzy possessing Arthur melted away, leaving him queasy, and weakened. His mind was reeling, head spinning. The events surged brutally round his head, each time new details added to the picture.

Hear her. _Follow her._ Let’s go Arthur, let’s go. _I will always be with you Arthur._ Those that practice magic are evil. A life for a life. That was the price. _I am your father._ No longer his son. No. Dishonoured. Abandoned. Betrayal. I quit. No more of this shit. For good. _Freedom._ Don’t Arthur, don’t do it. Drop it. Don’t make me use my magic- _enchanted._ They’ve enchanted my son. Let go Arthur, let _him_ go. Let us go. Don’t _leave me here._ Morgana. _Sister._ Abandoned. I’ll come back for you I promise. It hurts. He knows what he did to his mother. _I_ know what he did to my mother. I fucking _know_ what _you_ did to _my_ mother. Hypocrite. Liar. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here and into the safety of Ealdor. Home. Ealdor. Merlin. Go into the safety of Merlin. Merlin. _Need_ Merlin. He needs Merlin. _I_ need Merlin. Hurt Merlin. Hurt himself. Hurt all over.

Bruised.

Battered.

Betrayed.

 _Home._ Ealdor. Merlin.

Darkness. Blinding darkness. Pain. Hurt. So much of it.

It hurts.

And then it all stops.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains one of my favourite Merlin/Arthur scenes from the story at the moment! Enjoy.
> 
> PLEASE - in the last part of the final scene I beg of you - listen to track 42 of the fanmix "Arthur's Realisation" (or listen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vABxHadTzmg ). I feel it really adds to the last part of the scene...where yes - Arthur kind of has an epiphany.

 

The sun was setting over Ealdor when Merlin arrived back with Arthur leaning limply against him, panting and mumbling complete gibberish. Well, not _complete_ gibberish, some of it made perfect sense, and it was heart breaking to hear over and over again. Merlin didn’t realise that he was shaking, or about to blackout for that matter, until Gwaine, Lancelot and Gwen launched themselves in front of his face, clearly speaking to him. Blinking confusedly, Merlin stared at their concerned faces. It took a few seconds for sound to seep back into his ears. When it did, it was unpleasant to say the least.  Merlin’s return had caused panic and anxiety within the settlement; all eyes were focused on Arthur Pendragon. Examining the blonde man, Gwaine turned to Merlin.

“What happened to him?” he whispered urgently, gazing over to his childhood friend nervously. He’d never seen Arthur Pendragon _like this._

“Has he been injured? _”_ Gwen shrieked at the same time Gwaine noted that their appeared to be no physical wounds on the exterior. He assumed if there was any chance of internal bleeding, Merlin would be significantly more freaked out than he was. He was almost trying to keep _calm,_ but not for his own sake – for Arthur’s. None of this was reassuring. It suggested something _worse_ than a mere physical injury or cut or something that could be _healed._ The implications of Arthur’s behaviour were severe, shocking.

 “ _Merlin.”_ Gwaine said insistently, nudging him forcefully for an answer because he couldn’t _take_ the tension building up inside.

Merlin pushed his way through the crowd, Lancelot and Gwaine acting as a barrier between them and the druids. Meeting Gwaine’s eyes, Merlin swallowed-hard and sighed. The look on his face said it all; he _knew it did_ judging by the way Gwaine’s expression faltered and left behind an echo of worry. 

“It’s a _long story_.” Merlin replied.

Narrowing his eyes, Gwaine noted the reluctance, the _shock_ in Merlin’s own voice. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And it wasn’t something that could be discussed out in the open if Merlin’s dangerous – and incredibly weary - look was anything to go by when he tried to pry for more than ‘it’s a long story’. Hunith and Balinor parted the crowd effortlessly, rushing towards their son and Arthur. Turning to his mother with sad, poignant eyes Merlin nodded at her. She clasped a hand to her mouth in comprehension, leaning towards Arthur soothingly. Merlin was glad Arthur was incoherent and almost unconscious; the last thing he needed was a replication of maternal love unintentionally thrust upon him. Balinor remained silent, studying the pair curiously. Then abruptly he hooked Arthur’s arm over his shoulder.

“We need to get him somewhere quiet.” Merlin explained, no longer able to keep his resolve. “He needs to rest, so he can… _be okay_ …he…he _has_ to be okay….” He panicked, eyes wide and feigned calmness dissolving into chaos. Immediately Gwaine noticed this and took over from Merlin, helping Balinor move him as Merlin mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.

“It’s _Arthur_ he’s always okay…not this time…Uther… _Arthur.”_

Gwaine shot Gwen a look of apprehension; she returned a similar sentiment silently. Balinor and Gwaine carried Arthur into Merlin’s private room within the large tree hollow; Arthur groaned subconsciously, continuing to mumble. Distraught, Merlin trailed behind with tears in his eyes, Gwen rested a hand gently against the druid’s shoulder, and Hunith and Lancelot followed behind them. Everyone was too absorbed with Arthur’s wellbeing (and Merlin’s as his condition was starting to deteriorate) to notice the knowing flicker in Hunith’s eyes, the sympathy followed by a profound remorse. She shut the door behind her, allowing them to have privacy.

Raking a hand through his hair, Merlin knelt by Arthur’s side, not realising rather aggressively he had rudely told everybody to back off and give them space until they were all staring at him in bewilderment, _fear._ Arthur was breathing at least, his heart was thumping fast. His eyes were clamped shut, his body viciously twisting and turning as he called out. Reaching out hazily, Arthur found Merlin’s shoulder and gripped to it tightly, _desperately._

“Please,” he stuttered breathily. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave.” Inhaling a large gulp of air, he squeezed the shoulder. “M-…M-… _Mother.”_

Merlin bowed his head in dejection,

“He found her, then.” Hunith eventually said pensively, gazing over to her son.

“His mother’s dead,” Gwaine exclaimed in surprise, eyes darting suspiciously between Hunith, Merlin and the feverish Arthur Pendragon. “She died in childbirth-”

“-NO.” Arthur growled shakily, the fury in his voice terrifying. His body started to spasm, breathing erratic. Leaning towards the blonde man comfortingly, Merlin gently patted the sweaty brow, stroking the damp blonde fringe. He ignored the way everyone recoiled at the sudden shift in tension.

“ _Shhh_ ,” he cooed, voice laced in tears. “Rest now Arthur.” His eyes smouldered gold, and a few seconds later the blonde man seemed to relax, his body becoming motionless.

 “No…that’s _not true_.” Arthur muttered before completely fading into the world of sleep unwillingly.

Nobody spoke. Gwaine and Lancelot shot Arthur confused and stunned stares; Gwen smiled weakly at Merlin, who clearly was _just_ as tormented as Arthur but doing a far better job of controlling it right now. Turning to Balinor, ensuring to wipe his eyes, Merlin didn’t leave Arthur’s side.

_“Leave us_.” He hissed, flinching at the way his tone sounded bitter, _sinister._

Of course Gwaine had to disobey his command, meddling for answers.

“Merlin, what the hell _happened-”_

“- _Please.”_ Merlin’s quiet voice broke, revealing strain. “I _will_ explain. But I…. _not right now_.”

Obediently, Gwen left the room in understanding; Lancelot swiftly copied her movements, sending one final fleeting look to Arthur. Hunith followed, gesturing for her husband to do the same. Gwaine inched closer to Merlin cautiously, showing no signs of leaving. Stubborn git. But then again, to his right-hand side Merlin established another person also remained; Balinor. When certain Arthur was asleep, and as sound as possible could be at this moment in time, Merlin turned to his father jadedly, acknowledging Gwaine quickly with a frown.

“Uther Pendragon,” Merlin said slowly, spitting the name out with acrimony. “Called upon Nimueh (Balinor’s attention grew, his posture straightened at the name) to help Igraine conceive a child.” Pause. “She was infertile. Thus, Arthur was born of _magic.”_

_“_ The laws of the Old religion state that for a life to be given, one must be taken.” Balinor finished, supplying Gwaine with the information that made the whole story suddenly darker and more horrific than ever imagined. There was no doubt as to who had been sacrificed; Gwaine narrowed his eyes.

“And Morgana,” unsure how to approach this subject, Merlin caressed the blonde locks tenderly. “Is the result of Uther’s infidelity.”  

Standing up, Gwaine rushed towards the door.

_“Bastard._ I’ll run him through.” Merlin quickly held a palm up the door; it bolted itself shut frantically, an elaborate lock mechanism appearing over the handle. Glaring, Gwaine banged at the door.

“You have no idea _how shit_ Uther’s made his life. Ever since I met Arthur he was burdened with responsibilities, spoon-fed lies and destructive tales about magic.” Merlin hardly found this surprising; Balinor raised his eyebrows, studying Arthur with different, _understanding_ eyes.

“Perhaps we need to postpone Arthur’s Eftboren,” He admitted, watching the light deteriorate in Merlin’s eyes. “He is shaken with grief, turmoil.”

“I disagree.” Merlin replied, words surprisingly even. His eyes darkened, realising the implications of postponing the ceremony. He and Arthur had worked _damn hard_ for this. There was no way he was going to let his father use this against Arthur, he’d proven himself time and time again. “That is for Arthur alone to decide, it is _his_ Eftboren.”

Balinor nodded, making his way towards the door. He cast his son one final look before departing. Gwaine didn’t move, studying Merlin with troubled eyes.

“Go clear your head Merl,” he suggested, perching beside the sleeping Arthur. “You don’t look so good.” 

Merlin’s skin was waxen, his eyes wide and slightly unfocused. It was evident he was also suffering. Merlin gazed at Gwaine hesitantly, torn and worried. He couldn’t _leave_ Arthur. How could he after everything that had happened to him? What if he woke and Merlin wasn’t here and he freaked out? Arthur _needed_ him, he needed Arthur. Expertly, Gwaine sieved through the emotions in those blue eyes and picked out the anxiety.

“He won’t wake for some time.” He added comfortingly with a soft smile.

The words _were_ comforting, and allowed Merlin to let go of his guilt for a few seconds.  He cast Gwaine one final look before stepping outside. Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. As he lifted his eyes from the ground, inhaling a ragged breath, he saw something, _someone._ Someone who had left a hole in his heart that simply couldn’t be filled, someone who had declared they _wouldn’t_ be coming back at all. Holding a hand to his throbbing head, Merlin studied the face carefully until he was sure he was real, he was _here._

“Hello Merlin.” The man said, almost distantly.

“…Will?”

**♦☼♦**

Merlin didn’t hesitate. He plunged into his arms; relief washing over him and tears spilling gently down his face. And for a moment, the troubles of the world and Arthur Pendragon’s tortured soul faded from his mind. For a moment everything consisted of this one embrace, this one reunion he had dreamt of for the past months but not foolish enough to believe would actually happen. _Will._ The man – William - studied Merlin anxiously, gesturing towards the closed door.

“Merlin,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “People are _talking._ I came here as soon as I could.”

Narrowing his eyes, Merlin studied the man’s expression curiously. Surely he couldn’t be talking about the _same thing._ It had unfolded less than an hour ago, and it wasn’t like the druids to gossip so extensively. But then again, a grimace dusted his face, this was about the _Pendragon’s,_ Camelot. Any updates on Camelot would aid their situation.

“Arthur will recover, _don’t worry.”_ Merlin muttered soothingly, realising his words lacked depth or meaning. Instead they floated in the air, too bland and heavy with turmoil for the liking of his larynx. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, why _would_ Will worry? He had made it clear how he felt about Arthur Pendragon many months ago.

Will’s expression darkened, a flicker of confusion misted over his eyes. It was then Merlin established they were talking about _different_ things. Leaning towards the druid urgently, Merlin raised his eyebrows.

“Wait, w-ait _what_ are the druids saying Will?” he whispered, unsure how much _more_ he could handle.

Everything had been so… _sickeningly_ normal six months ago, before Camelot arrived, before the Naiimen Barrier was destroyed…before _Gaius_ was captured. A wave of dizziness flushed through his body. Gaius. He hadn’t so much as _thought_ about the man for a long time now. The man who had cared for him during his childhood, taught him about the forests and magic. Gaius had once said Merlin was the son he’d never had. The memory of these words evoked great sadness within the druid. Guilt smothered him. Gaius…was he still even _alive?_ If so, where _was_ he? The words flying out of Will’s mouth didn’t process in his mind for a few seconds. When they defined themselves, syllables stretching apart to accent the word, he gazed up at his friend in bewilderment.

“Uther Pendragon knows about Emrys. He knows that _you_ are Emrys.”

Pause.

“I don’t know how he knows,” Will continued, a little alarmed by Merlin’s lack of _panic_ or _anxiety –_ the enemy knowing the identity was _not_ a good thing. Yet Merlin didn’t seem to give a flying fuck. All that lingered in those familiar blue eyes was _curiosity_ of all things, and even dark amusement. “But if that stupid blonde twat ran back to his daddy and spilled the beans I will _personally-”_

Merlin’s uncharacteristic laughter faded into a fierce growl. He stared menacingly towards Will, instantly silencing him.

“-You will do _nothing_ to him.” His words were remarkably forceful. “Arthur Pendragon has proved his worth time and _time_ again to both Camelot and Ealdor.” The anger faded, replaced with melancholy and sympathy. “Yes, whilst following his father’s orders blindly wasn’t the best thing to do, it was the _only thing he had…”_ the words dwindled away; he was unable to finish.

Something had happened. Judging by Merlin’s expression, something _big._ His almost _predatory_ attack when Arthur was mentioned, the abnormal facial expressions and inexplicable sorrow protracting just behind the iris. It all made sense now. Except it didn’t. Will’s voice emerged out of the silence growing between them.

“Merlin, care to tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?”

Tears in his eyes, Merlin gazed dejectedly up at his old friend. Wordlessly he examined the concerned look on Will’s face. Concern, a lot had changed. Merlin never thought he’d see the day William conveyed genuine _concern_ for something associated with Arthur Pendragon, concern _for_ Arthur Pendragon. He averted his gaze, unsure what to say. It felt unfair, discussing such a personal, private matter with others when Arthur himself was not even able to do so himself. Abruptly, the door behind them opened, revealing a slightly relieved Gwaine. His eyes shot past Merlin, widening as he saw Will.

“Hey sunshine, welcome back.” He said, not bothering to inspect the facial expression he received afterwards. Gwaine turned to Merlin, gesturing towards the room. “He’s starting to wake. He’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Nodding, Merlin smiled appreciatively. He looked over his shoulder to Will.

“No-one is to come in until I say so.” The intensity lacing his voice dared anyone to challenge this statement. To his relief nobody did. “We’ll talk later,” he admitted to Will, desperately heading towards the door. “He needs me.”

With that, the druid disappeared into the room, leaving behind a puzzled Will and an apprehensive Gwaine.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur groggily opened his eyes with reluctance. Not only did he have an excruciating headache, but his body was sore all over, his mind unable to piece together specifics. Was it day or was it night? The darkness of the room blockaded nature, giving no indication. Hazy memories flickered in and out of focus; destructive emotions pulsed through every beat of his oppressed heart. He vaguely remembered the beautiful faerie kingdom Merlin and himself had stumbled upon, its white forests and pale pink blossom. The reason they had been there had not yet become clear. Inhaling the air around, he sat up in the uncomfortable bed – Merlin’s undoubtedly. The druid was perched on a wooden stool beside the bed, head buried in his hands. He had not yet noticed Arthur had roused from sleep, and allowed himself to exhale a laboured sigh. The sigh was extensive and immersed in torment.  It was something he would have kept concealed if he had known Arthur was awake. Vision improving the further into consciousness he fell, Arthur studied the red marks around one wrist curiously.

_What part of shut-up don’t you understand? This has nothing to do with you so keep your nose out of it._ The words flooded back to him. He had done this, and it mortified him. It was enough to demolish the barricade his mind had set up. Igraine, his _mother._ He had found her. But it hadn’t been a reunion full of joy and happiness. Secrets. Lies. _Hypocrite._ His father. He had tried to _kill_ his father…. _Why?_ What had his mother said that had been so- _you were born of Magic Arthur._ To create a life, a life must be taken. She is his flesh and blood. _I no longer think of myself as your son._ He must have let slip the dismal drone from his mouth, for Merlin quickly lifted his paled face in surprise. Leaning towards Arthur, he smiled feebly.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you alright?” his soothing eyes caressed Arthur’s face. Arthur could distinguish the supressed hurt and turmoil in them instantly.

Nodding unconvincingly, Arthur inhaled a deep breath to try and shake the dizziness clouding over him. The thoughts in his head were still overwhelming. He had been betrayed, misled by his father for his _whole life._ The look of complete and utter despair must have spread from his eyes and across his whole face, because Merlin now sat beside Arthur on the bed, his eyes sad.

“I’m so _sorry_.” He muttered feebly, knowing it wasn’t enough, and that this was completely out of his hands. The events that had come to pass – they were of a magnitude so great Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur turned into a raging villain and destroyed everything in his path. However, Arthur was behaving in a far more worrying manner: he sat motionless, eyes vacantly staring across the room. Every move of his eyes was aimless, dully drinking in the surroundings only because he _had_ to.

“It’s….” he eventually stuttered, turning to Merlin he locked his eyes ferociously onto his. Each word came out heavy and punctuated with a devastating silence that revealed more than the words themselves. “Merlin. It’s. Not. Fair.” Maintaining the intense gaze, Arthur felt a wave of nausea subsume his system. “How could my father do that to my mother?” averting his eyes, Arthur frowned, not giving in to the slight tremor of his lips. “She…she died _unhappy_ and unloved-”

“- _No.”_ Merlin clasped the man’s hands empathetically, wishing he could do _something_ other than offer words of wisdom.

“Yes.” Arthur insisted, blinking rapidly to avoid the colossal emotional wreckage to sweep him away into the tumultuous aftershock.

“Arthur,” the dark-haired druid sighed. “Can’t you see?” a soft smile dusted his face. “Igraine never died, she’s been with you your whole life, _watching_ you…she didn’t die unhappy, she died with you in her arms, her _son-_ ”

“-the son who cost her _her life_!” Arthur spat darkly, bringing his hands to rake through his blonde hair agitatedly. Calmly, Merlin shook his head, catching Arthur off-guard with the continuation of that smile.

“We both know that’s not the truth, none of this is your fault and she would _never_ want you to blame yourself.” Silence; Arthur pondered on these words dejectedly. Bowing his head he grimaced.

“It doesn’t matter what she wanted me to do, she’s gone… _forever_ now.”

 Musing over Arthur’s response, Merlin titled his head curiously to the side.

“No,” he reached into his pocket. “She’ll always be with you.”

Arthur recoiled _physically_ at the words because it actually _hurt_ to hear this lie spoken out loud _._ Merlin didn’t understand. Igraine could never come back. Her voice would never again haunt his mind pleasantly, ghost around the edges of his skin.  Nonetheless, Merlin’s eyes were burnishing brightly with certainty, _belief._ It was so strong it raised doubts in Arthur’s minds, enough doubt to turn imploringly to the druid, placing his soul in his hands.

“How can you be so sure?”

He searched those crystal blue eyes for a trace of hesitance or deception. There was none. It unnerved Arthur greatly. One of Merlin’s hands hovered over his own, it was clasped tightly shut. Delving deeper in to those eyes Arthur tried to read the man’s mind, what he was doing. Merlin said nothing, gazing back at Arthur desperately. Gasping at the revelation, the blonde slowly turned his shaking hands over, revealing the palms. His watery eyes never left Merlin’s face; Merlin’s eyes never left his. Then the first tear fell down his cheek. He made no movement to wipe his eyes, continuing to look at Merlin intently, _urgently._ He leant closer towards the druid, lifting his palms a little to brush against the clasped hand.

He felt it drop into his palms from Merlin’s hands, landing securely in his grasp. Arthur laughed softly; it was a _happy_ laugh. For now, it was enough for Merlin to hold onto and tell himself that Arthur Pendragon _would_ be okay. He would recover. Finally, Arthur gazed down into his hands, breaking the eye contact. It meant so much to him, and he couldn’t believe he had carelessly thrown it away in a fit of anger. Tightening his palms around it, fearful the metallic bird on the pendant would spring to life and fly away forever, Arthur shut his eyes. He cherished the moment, the sense of belonging that flushed through his body. It faded instantly, the remnants of it tickling his chest.

“…Are you?” Arthur whispered out of the silence; his voice sounded hardly like his own, gravelly and raspy. Confused by the vague words, Merlin studied those blue eyes, a portal into his broken soul. Swallowing-hard, the blonde man continued. “Are _you,_ alright?”

Veering his eyes elsewhere, Merlin propped that lousy attempt at smile back onto his lips. It didn’t look right on the face. The protruding silence dancing around them failed to console Arthur’s conscience. Grimly, he reached over to the bruised wrist; he had created these ugly marks. Turning back to him, Merlin honourably made excuses for the behaviour. Typical Merlin.

“Arthur it’s nothing. I understand-“

“- _No_.” Arthur intervened bluntly, dismissing Merlin’s _stupid_ words. This was not _nothing._ He stroked the wrist gently with his thumb, shame swallowing him whole. “Don’t pretend that _this_ is okay-”

“-My magic can heal it, it’s fine. You were blinded by anger-“

Arthur shook his head dismally, stunned at this reckless streak of selflessness in Merlin. It had gone beyond the point of reason now. Forging explanations for something that was evidently wrong was not brave, or wise. And yet Merlin had been the one to follow him to Camelot Base, to prevent him from committing a terrible deed. To kill his father would have been equivalent to what his father had done to Igraine. Gratitude swathed his body. His guardian angel had redeemed his soul, _saved_ him from a treacherous road.

“-Anger of all things does _not_ excuse the fact I treated you poorly.” Bowing his head he failed to meet the man in the eyes. He was nothing compared to Merlin. “I…”

He winced at the memory of the things he had said to Merlin, remembering what he had called him.

“I didn’t mean it, about Emrys…“

Merlin chuckled absently as if they were reminiscing over a childhood argument. He had heard all sorts of ridiculous things about Emrys before. Good and bad, hurtful and hilarious. Arthur’s criticism had not been the worst. He shrugged elusively.

“You’re right though. Just because I have a big destiny doesn’t make me special or-“

“-You are special.” Merlin met Arthur’s sincere expression cautiously, inquisitive blue eyes searching the contours of his face for something he hoped was there and also wasn’t. “Emrys or not, you’ll always be special.”

Stupefied by the kind words, and the intensity compressed inside them, Merlin raised his eyebrows. A subtle smile tickled his lips, threatening to crawl over his face and reveal _everything_. Inexplicably nervous, he peeled his eyes from the blonde, he steered his attention to the ground. Arthur felt a cloud of embarrassment loiter over him, spewing droplets of red across his burning cheeks. Quickly, he tried to salvage the situation.

“I…what I’m _trying_ to say is that I…” fumbling over his words clumsily, he frowned. “I’m s-…I…”

The subtle smile morphed into an amused grin. Gazing with fondness at the incoherent Arthur, Merlin titled his head.

“Are you trying to apologise?” his voice was tight and drenched in a burst of laughter.

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur shot him a deadpan look. Secretly, he was relieved Merlin had allowed them to melt into their usual way of communication again. His words formed naturally, filling him with joy.

“It’s not _funny_ you idiot-“

Merlin’s grin widened.

“-Erm, it kind of is.”

Averting his focus, Arthur pouted. His eye twinkled with unmistakable mirth; a contorted smile began to smear over his face.

“Fine.” He caught the sapphire eyes humorously. “I won’t apologise.”

Which in reality _was_ his way of apologising. Folding his arms across his chest, Merlin pursed his lips together in feigned annoyance, interpreting the cryptic message.

“Unbelievable!” he exclaimed, the delight in his eyes contradicted his words. “You really are the biggest… _pratface_ I’ve ever met.”

Indulging in the insult, a _terrible_ one at that, Arthur threw his head back and allowed laughter to consume him. The pain in his head seemed to dissipate, the ache in his body was no match for the happiness he felt right now. Happiness bounded over his muscles’ complaints, stitching them up with kind words and assurance. His eyes floated towards Merlin’s. For the first time in a _long time_ he felt home. The whispers of the wind called his name, the rivers and streams ran through his blood, the wise forest sheltered his heart. The sun embedded itself inside him and left a warm glow on his skin. This was where he belonged- _Ealdor._ It was his home.

_Merlin_ was the beacon. A beacon that sparked hope and vibrancy inside him, pulling him into the light. This notion plummeted him into abrupt silence. Oh _god_. Morgana was right- he _hated_ it when she was right. Yes, now he could finally see. Merlin made him laugh. But he also made him cry. He made him angry, _so_ angry. And then he made him calm, made him happy. _That’s an awful lot of feelings Arthur._ He was the light, he was the dark. He was the day, he was the night.  He was the blinding sun, he was the hypnotic moon. He was the tide that crashed onto the shore in the East; he was the strong fold of mountains in the South. He was Albion. He was the one strumming his heart’s pace with his delicate fingers. He was _everything._ A dizzy wave of recognition rushed over him.

“Merlin.” Arthur spoke gently, butterflies swirled in his stomach.

How had he not seen it sooner? It was so painfully _obvious._

“Come on now, you need to rest. We wouldn’t want you to miss your own _party._ ” Merlin’s voice was blurred into the background. The druid stood up, unaware of the daze surrounding Arthur.

Those mesmerising eyes then fixated on Arthur, lifting him from the whirling emotions and explosion of thoughts. Moving over to him, Merlin frowned and held a hand to his brow. The touch sent a shiver up his spine. Concern etched its way onto the druid’s face. Arthur had been through a lot in the past few hours. Perhaps a vast ceremony was not _the best of ideas._ Maybe his father was right after all. Hesitantly, he voiced Balinor’s concerns.

“Or, if you don’t feel up to it I could just tell the clan we need to postpone the ritual fo-“

“-No.” Arthur said briskly, hauling himself out of the bed animatedly. He’d been waiting for this confirmation, a _confirmation_ that he belonged somewhere. He wanted desperately to belong somewhere, _anywhere_.

“I’m ready.”

Merlin walked to the door. He opened it with a proud smile, and left Arthur dangling on a wavering string that swung back and forth. Swallowing-hard, he felt a shiver pass through his body. He was going to become one of the people, reborn and gifted with a second life that was graced with peace and kindness. That wasn’t what made him nervous. It wasn’t the notion of baring his soul to the people that tore up the tranquillity inside. It was something else.

Arthur Pendragon was _in love_ with Merlin. 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE - the music is really important for this chapter: 
> 
> FANMIX HERE: http://www.mediafire.com/?ywtuvcra6c9sl8u 
> 
> First scene: TRACK 44 / Youtube "Courtyard Apocalypse - Alexandre Desplat"  
> Second scene: TRACK 45 / Youtube "Becoming one of the people - James Horner"  
> -  
> Fourth scene: TRACK 46 / Youtube "Waiting for the lights - Alan Menken" 
> 
> Enjoy :) this is one of my favourite chapters! Translations at the end - quite a few.

As the twilight seeped gently into of the room, Arthur inhaled a raggedy breath. Nervous didn’t quite cut it – it was the biggest night of his _life_ after all. Tonight was the night, the night of his Eftboren. It had been thee days since William’s return, three days since the _event_ that had caused cataclysmic destruction within his soul…three days since he had come to realise he _loved_ that idiotic druid. It had altered his future forever. This was where he belonged, in _Ealdor._ He had never been so sure of anything in his life. Ever since his revelation, Arthur had begun to take more notice of things he hadn’t before.

Like the way his heart picked up speed when he saw Merlin approach him, or the way he automatically smiled, laughed in his presence. It had _scared him._ Will of _all bloody people_ had almost sussed him out earlier too. To think they had been _mildly civil_ with each other yesterday! The druid had noticed he’d been staring at Merlin with ‘doting eyes’, like a ‘lovesick puppy’. He had pointedly glowered at Will, telling him to ‘fuck off’ and ‘stop being a prick’. Secretly he was grateful Merlin was out of earshot, only able to deduce from their interaction that they were arguing as per usual about something _pointless_. Will _did_ have a point though – unnerving Arthur further.

He’d never been… _in love_ before.

It was a new feeling, a _nice_ feeling.

But it was a _dangerous_ feeling.

Merlin had this ability to effortlessly extinguish his perception of time and space, blur everything around him into one mesh of things that didn’t matter and could wait until the end of time because it wasn’t as important as any moment with Merlin. Arthur had found more and _more_ he didn’t even _realise_ it was happening, that he was completely enamoured in Merlin’s presence and neglected everything else around him. He had become to accustomed to the warm feeling, so accepting of it that he began to notice a _difference_ when Merlin wasn’t talking to him or with him. The world _literally_ darkened, the scene literally became dull and lacking in vibrancy, _magic._

Right now, however, Arthur’s world was shining _brilliantly._ Swallowing-hard, he struggled to avoid eye contact with the druid who stood alarmingly close – oblivious and naïve to _everything_ of course. Beside the druid’s feet was a bowl of blue paste; Merlin had explained many weeks ago it was customary for each druid to be covered in this paint, with symbols from the Old Religion increasing the chance of Albion’s acceptance. Weeks ago, Arthur had laughed at the thought of Merlin spreading blue paste over his body. However, _now_ it was a totally different story.

Merlin’s intoxicating fingers spread the thick blue paste over his face lightly. The touch was intimate despite it not intending to be. Arthur surrendered into it, not caring that he had craned forwards. Merlin didn’t seem to notice, to his relief. The hypnotic druid brushed his fingers delicately down his nose, then across the cheekbones, creating a swirling pattern on each side. The electricity churning underneath the skin was pleasant, captivating Arthur in a blissful world where nothing else mattered. Where Merlin’s fingers went, the tingling sensation followed submissively. When Merlin stopped, an agonising ache spread through him, he almost reached for the hands imploringly. But he realised now was not the time. It was part of the Eftboren. Besides, he hadn’t even figured out if Merlin felt the same. The fire in his gut blazed through his body.

Merlin dipped his fingers into the paste and met Arthur’s eyes slowly. A shudder wrecked through his body. Pathetic, yes, but Arthur found he was no longer able to regulate his reactions to Merlin anymore. Especially when he realised there was a dark obscurity enveloping behind the sapphire eyes, an unfamiliar emotion lingering within. It was one he’d never seen in those spectacular eyes. It fuelled the flames inside, the hunger deepening. Before he could distinguish what it meant, the eyes moved down to study his bare chest. Anxiously, Arthur swallowed-hard under the scrutiny. His heart rocketed. Those eyes examined him, mapping out lost worlds and hidden roads. Arthur quickly let any worry sieve from his mind when those magical fingers painted a line across his collarbone. Merlin moved with deliberate, slow-paced precision that Arthur pretended _wasn’t_ driving him crazy. The fingers slipped lower, pressing to the skin. Closing his eyes, Arthur treasured the acres of warmth dancing along his skin. Time seemed to courteously stop for a few seconds, allowing him to indulge in the calculated movements of those hands. The worst part was the druid appeared ignorant to everything he was doing…or _was_ he?

The fingers retreated, reaching for more of the paste. Merlin smeared it over his chest in jagged lines, avoiding the Merlin-bird necklace. His touch was merciless and torturous. Those wonderful hands continued to caress his skin skilfully, reaching his lower abdomen. Arthur’s muscles became tense. He clenched his body tightly to restrain the swell of ravenous desire emanating inside. This excruciating game continued until Merlin’s touch paused reaching the hem of his trousers. His teasing fingers loitered there for longer than Arthur deemed _was fair._   The touch faded, and Arthur suddenly remembered he had forgotten to open his fucking eyes, or _breathe_. He opened his eyes abruptly, wincing at how he practically _gasped_ for air. Merlin leant towards him coyly- or was it knowingly? - _No_. Then those supple lips touched the shell of his ear and he knew he was _done for_. It was fragile enough to be mistaken for the whispers of the wind, or an echo of what could have been as they hovered in the dangerous proximity.

“Ic æalá Ŏu.” His voice was low and serious.

Impatience reached its ultimate climax, and he couldn’t resist obliging to the enticing atmosphere. Without warning, Arthur grabbed the druid and drew him closer like a wild, untamed animal. It took a hell of a lot of unnecessary energy to suppress the groan sitting at the back of his throat. Their mouths moulded together in a burnishing kiss.Resisting the urge to throw his hands into his blonde locks and destroy all of his hard work preparing him for the ritual, Merlin agitatedly scraped his nails over the unpainted shoulders. Arthur’s chuckle vibrated against their lips. Their lips intensified the silent conversation, wrestling furiously against each other. Then it all became more frenzied and passionate. Arthur’s tongue deviously slid over his lips, awaiting access. Incapable of holding in the small moan of pleasure, Merlin parted his lips. Right at that moment, Arthur’s tongue ignited an insatiable fire inside the cave of his mouth. Merlin gasped unwillingly, diving his hands into his hair desperately.

The pair of them broke the kiss suddenly, panting for unwanted but necessary air.

“Arthur-“ Merlin breathed, traces of doubt beginning to rise in his voice.

Then like the fate of the world depended on it, Arthur silenced him with his mouth. _Shut-up Merlin, shut-up and let me kiss you_ his lips cooed. The kiss dwindled into a languid, exploratory pace. Arthur smiled against the lips; a dizzy flutter overpowered his senses. He was too content to notice how Merlin stiffened, becoming less and less responsive. He didn’t register the shift until the lips stopped moving completely, drawn into a thin closed line. Resignedly, Arthur took a step backwards. The pair dwelled in an uncertain silence. Merlin was unreadable and _unbearably_ impassive. Arthur sighed in painful realisation that perhaps they wanted different things; perhaps Merlin had only kissed him to _return the favour,_ or satisfy his needs on this important night _._ It sounded like one of the stupid, selfless things Merlin _would_ do. Merlin had always put Arthur first. The fact that his face was giving nothing away unnerved the blonde further.

Before Arthur could apologise or try to figure out the enigmatic druid, Merlin’s eyed flashed ochre. The smudges of blue paste on his skin, induced by their recent intimacy, tidied themselves up into presentable lines; his tousled and dishevelled hair neatened itself obediently. The edges of Merlin’s lips hinted at a soft smile as he admired the man’s appearance. Then Merlin made his way towards the door and left briskly without any words. He exited so quickly that for a moment Arthur was unsure if he had _ever been here_ , or if the kiss had been real. Furrowing his eyebrows, he felt bewilderment wash over him.

He stood there for a few moments, drenched in silence, confusion and a ridiculous _aching_ in his chest. Reaching towards his lips, he brushed his fingers over them pensively.

 

 

**♦☼♦**

It was Gwenevere who eventually broke him from his trance. She entered the room cautiously at first; almost quiet enough to be dismissed as a figment of the imagination. Gazing up slowly, Arthur gaped at the beautiful woman. She was dressed in a long white gown, a contrast to her cinnamon skin. Sparkling jewels decorated her dark black curls, her glowing face anointed in a similar blue paste. He offered her a weak smile, walking towards her. Gwenevere bowed her head gently in response.

It was then Arthur noticed the navy blue cloak in her hands.

“Merlin made it himself.” Gwen said with a smile, allowing it to drape down in her hands.  “It’s made from silk of the North, and laced with the hair of a unicorn.”

The navy cloak shimmered with a magical hue; the material was light and dexterous. It had a delicate hood, beautiful embroidery was revealed around the front, with gold and red threads creating a captivating pattern beneath the hood and seeping outwards. Two golden buttons were sewn on each side of the front, just below the hood to secure the cloak. It was a work of beauty, and Arthur wondered where Merlin had found the time to _make this_ yet alone get all the material for it. Gwen fastened the hooded cloak to him.

“The clan are waiting for you.”

Swallowing-hard, Arthur met her eyes slowly. The ritual was going to be a test of his heart, of his _soul._ It was up to Albion herself to decide whether Arthur Pendragon was worthy of becoming one of her people, whether he could truly belong in such a perfect world. Lifting the hood slowly over his head, Arthur felt a wash of anxiety surge through his body. Part of him had this frequent fear that the ritual would go wrong, or that suddenly there was a unanimous decision to stop it. The woman beside him noticed the tension in his body and reached out her hand comfortingly. Arthur took it hesitantly, wanting more than _anything_ for Merlin to return. It was no surprise to him that he didn’t. Merlin was not only Emrys, but the future leader of Ealdor.

The pair of them left the preparation room, the warmth of the Ealden sunset trickled over Arthur’s bare chest. There was a calm breeze raking through his golden hair and toying with the cloak behind him. It whispered in that foreign tongue his magic was now drawn to. It was comforting, slowing his erratic heart. As he walked, Gwenevere beside him loyally, his eyes met the crowd of people ahead. The whole of the Ealdor clan were standing before him, eyes open, _accepting of him_. The orange sun seeped over their heads, morphing them into silhouettes. Nearing the edge of the crowd, Arthur felt a swell of awe enshroud him as the silhouettes morphed into focus. Even Will, who Arthur could see in the corner, appeared to be _moderately_ tolerant of this event. Whether it was for the celebrations or for the actual ritual, Arthur was unsure.

Then suddenly Gwenevere left his side with a bow of her head, falling into the crowd of druids, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel he was drowning in a sea of people surrounding him. The druids surrounded him, giving him no room for movement. He tried to remain calm, not wanting to give any indication that he was not ready for this. Zelina brushed her hands over his cloak, rather inappropriately. Nonetheless, Arthur cast her a courteous smile that was small enough to be misinterpreted as a twitch of his lips.

The second druid reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. A cloud of magic hovered around him, making him feel dizzy, skin tingling. The next druid made the same gesture whilst moving out of his path. And then they were all moving away from him in perfect unison, as if he were magnetised, creating a narrow clearing for him to walk. The walk had to be meticulously timed, he recalled Merlin’s lecture about it. His eyes gazed over the druids, reassured and comforted when he noticed Gwaine was standing a few feet from him, hand outstretched. He began taking calculated steps towards the plateau; an encouraging smile dusted Gwaine’s face as he passed him.

At the end of this long procession, Arthur could see three figures standing on the plateau beside the Crystal Cave. Hunith, Balinor and Merlin. A silence hung over the clan, watching his procession towards belonging, towards _everything._ Closing his eyes for a moment, Arthur softly traced the necklace around his neck. His mother. He prayed she would be watching him with proud eyes now, praying for Albion to accept him forever into this beautiful land full of beautiful people. _Mother. Thank you for showing me the light, for never leaving me._ Opening his eyes, Arthur reached the plateau gracefully.

Arthur obediently fell to his knees, head bowed. Merlin had been rigorous in explaining the ritual process to him. Every gesture made had to be honourable and respectful, or the chance of rebirth would not bless him. Gently, Hunith pressed a hand to his shoulder and lowered the hood. He met her eyes cautiously, graced with her affection. She reached for his hands, lifting him to his feet silently. With that, she took a step backwards and clasped her hands together, obviously making a silent blessing. Balinor took a step forwards, and addressed him. Arthur didn’t _dare_ look at Merlin, afraid his emotions would take hold and distract him.

“ _Arfuera,_ are you prepared to abide by the laws and rules of our kind, to love and respect the people, and embrace Albion?”

A little startled, not even the rehearsals with Merlin could have prepared him for the _actual_ ritual; Arthur attempted to clear his throat. For a moment he was frightened his voice would not sound, and the whole of Albion would laugh at him.

“I will, Folctogan.”

Arthur foolishly allowed his gaze to drift to Merlin whilst speaking, studying the enigmatic eyes, the soft smile on those lips. He couldn’t help but return the look, amusement bubbling inside at the memory of their first rehearsal. _Folctogan; and you can’t just say ‘yes’. This is a serious question, requiring more thought than that. You must answer with ‘I will’; you are pledging yourself to the people. Understand?_ The druid was looking over at him, a swell of joy bursting from his features, obviously sharing the memory. However, there was a detectable trace of trouble in the crinkles of his eyes, and the corners of his mouth. Arthur averted his attention back to Balinor, not wanting to think about what could have caused this trouble in the druid. He greatly feared it was the events that had occurred prior to the Eftboren.

“And are you willing to share your soul and heart with the people, live among us and in times of darkness fight for justice?”

Bowing his head nobly, Arthur replied.

“I am willing, Folctogan.”

Balinor smiled, bowing his head towards Arthur.

“Then _Arfuera,_ Albion welcomes you with open arms into its home. You are now a son of Ealdor, part of the people.”

**♦☼♦**

The celebrations began swiftly after the ceremony, in the midst of the Ealden forest. The trees and shrubbery were alight in their stunning bioluminescence, which was further enhanced by druid enchantments. Small orbs of entrancing light danced in the air around, softening the complexions of people, and removing the sharpness of their surroundings. Everything was lulling and completely absorbing. Time seemed to slow and allow all to relish in this festival of rebirth. A large group of druids were dancing around a large fire, others were admiring the tranquillity of the night, and some were talking avidly to each other. Arthur Pendragon was one of the few who remained seated, isolated and seemingly content with his own company.

Naturally, druids came over to congratulate him. There were a few faces Arthur could finally put names to; even the Elders had come to speak with him for a few minutes, _without_ hostility. However, to Arthur’s disappointment Merlin had miraculously vanished the _moment_ the ritual was over. Perhaps the kiss really _had_ been a step too far out of line, and pushed the druid away. Confusion swathed the blonde man. He had truly thought it was reciprocated in some way. Obviously, he had thought wrong. He gently traced his fingers over the silk cloak draping from his back, warmth filling his heart. It was a beautiful item of clothing; one that he was sure could never be forged or made the same again.

He watched the clan, a sense of belonging hanging in his chest. It had been a long, _long_ time since he had felt this comfortable, this at home. These were his people now; the world he had left behind was nothing but a memory of corruption, pain and turmoil. His mind drifted to Morgana, and a wash of regret overpowered his body, prickling his eyes. She was trapped in the Camelot’s sticky web of lies and deceit. She had magic, and yet it was hidden from her in the hope it would protect her. Arthur wanted nothing more for Morgana to be here, to join him in Ealdor. But nothing could be that simple, or easy. Perhaps now he was a druid, he could persuade the Elders to let her stay? Clasping his hands together, Arthur bowed his head slowly. He was unsure how long he had sat like that until he was interrupted.

“So,” the voice Arthur’s ears had been craving _all bloody night_ finally arrived. Admittedly, it was a little erratic in tone. ”You’re looking _fantastic_.”

Merlin perched beside the newly proclaimed druid clumsily on the mossy tree branch, almost missing his seat. He was incapable of hiding the pride and joy spewing from his navy eyes. Surprised by the brashness of Merlin’s behaviour, and _his words_ for that matter, he studied Merlin’s gait. Something was definitely amiss here. Merlin seemed rather relaxed, _too relaxed_ and open. His position was comfortable (practically slumping down onto the log). The eyes were bordering lazy, his cheeks flushed and blinks slightly elongated. Then Arthur spotted the lilac concoction in a cup weaved from leaves resting in his palms. Chuckling knowingly, deep and raw from his throat, Arthur shot the younger man an inquisitive look.

“ _What_ on _earth_ have you been drinking?” he grinned, studying the entrancing liquid.

“’Mmm, ‘s _really_ good Arfur.” Was all Merlin supplied rather uselessly, his content expression amused Arthur.

He held the drink out to the blonde, and carefully Arthur took a sip of it. At first the warm liquid tasted of rich fruits and smelt of the mellow flowers around them. Then emerged a trace of that distinguishable bitterness, which was surprising due to their location. He took another sip to confirm his suspicions. It seemed even the druids were capable of brewing drinks laced in alcohol or some sort of magical equivalent. Onlyfor special occasions though, that much was obvious by the affect the weak drink had on the man beside him and the fact he had never seen anything like it in his six months of being here. _Funny._ Merlin seized the thatched leaves back hastily; momentarily afraid Arthur was going to drink it all. The relieved look on his face when he saw there was still some left tickled Arthur’s lips.

“Who gave you this?” he asked.

“Gawayneeee.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes; _of course_ Gwaine had sniffed out the beverages and given Merlin a heap of it because he found getting others more wasted than he was absolutely _hilarious_. His eyes roamed the celebrations around him and he spotted the rugged man dancing maladroitly with some members of the female clan to an upbeat Druid Gerwinde- improvised by the talented musicians of the clan. The pulse of this stylised dance was still disorientating to Arthur’s ears, no matter how many times Merlin counted the beats out to him over the past few months. The only thing he could latch onto was the repetitive, simplistic melody playing in unison octaves aside from occasional touches of harmonisation. A drone resonated beneath the merry tune and the pulsating drumbeat, giving it some element of key. Arthur had grown to like the simplistic, almost primal nature of the Druid’s music-making. It was _far better_ than auto-tuned, over commercialised Barbie-dolls and topless Kens that was for sure. This music was authentic, the instruments crafted directly from nature and magic.

Beside Gwaine, Lancelot and Gwen were engaged in deep conversation whilst sipping their drinks. The whole scene reminded him of a teenage house party, a bizarre one at that.

“You’re _finally_ one of us now.” Merlin exclaimed, eyes crinkling in mirth exaggeratedly at the notion.

“I guess so. Do I get a special magical name?” he asked teasingly, not aware of how close he was leaning towards the other man.

Merlin didn’t seem to care or notice their proximity; if he did Arthur didn’t detect any objection. His mind wavered foolishly back to the kiss before the ceremony. _No._ Merlin was under the influence of some strange druid drink. He was not going to persuade him to kiss him, no matter how irresistible those lips were becoming. Merlin squinted comically, lips twisting. Clearly he was trying to conceal his own amusement at something. He caught Arthur’s eyes mischievously, words misplaced due to limitless laughter.

“…h-how about… _ha!_ Clotpole? Or dollophead?”

Arthur’s smile faded into an immediate deadpan.

“Merlin…” he began slowly, sarcasm oozing from that word alone. “What did we talk about? You trying to be _funny_ -”

“-I shouldn’t.” Merlin interrupted sheepishly, a slight blush dusting his cheekbones.

Arthur raised his head with a grin, performing an elaborate nod.

“ _Exactly!”_ his voice couldn’t house any more of a patronising tone than it already was.

Draping an arm around the druid, Arthur shoved him playfully and gestured towards the drink.

“Now be a good friend and tell me where I can get some of that.”

**♦☼♦**

Merlin pushed him back before jumping onto his feet. Noticing the expression on the blonde druid’s face become one of poorly masked hurt, he smirked.

“No I’m not _leaving you_ ,” he outstretched his hand confidently. “I want to show you something.”

Hauling himself up to his feet with Merlin’s hand, Arthur was unable to contain the giddy, bubbly feeling inside – it was the drink, _definitely_ the drink, oh how much had he _had_ again? - expressing it in a wide, toothy grin. They stumbled for what felt like hours through the luminous forest, giggling as each of them frequently collided with obstacles that had _appeared out of nowhere_. Merlin was the only one aware of where they were actually going, well _vaguely_ aware.

“Where are you taking me? _Fiend.”_ Arthur slurred, breaking the silence that had hovered between them.

Smiling enigmatically, Moraþ floating through his bloodshot eyes, Merlin gestured towards the tree beside them.

“Let’s see if you’ve done your homework.” He teased, making his way up the tree daintily.

At a steady pace, Arthur followed, a little terrified and lightheaded. How far up were they _going?_ Merlin was _way_ ahead of him, weaving expertly between branches despite intoxication, using every part of the tree to his advantage with skill. It reminded him of their first meeting, climbing frantically out of reach from the Chimera. Only this time, _thank god,_ they were not running away from any monsters. He was unsure how two drunk druids would be able to take on a predator of the forest. Besides, Arthur hardly felt energetic enough to walk yet alone _climb,_ his limbs ached and weariness clouded over his system. Merlin was out of sight, submerged in the leaves far above his head. Narrowing his eyes to focus the corners of his fuzzy vision, he huffed.

“Now- you’re just showing off!” Arthur called, quickening his pace.

When both of them were nestled at the top, Merlin shut his eyes for a moment. The peculiar drink – or Moraþ as Gwen had called it whilst pouring Arthur his third…or fourth…cup – thrummed against their chests. Its intoxicating nature had gradually wavered away and left behind serene warmth and a weak desire for its taste. Sighing, Merlin gazed out into the horizon. Of course he had taken Arthur up to Æsclanğne, the tallest, most majestic tree in Ealdor – possibly in all of Albion.

“I used to come here as a kid, it’s the best view of Albion _for miles.”_

Gaping at the sight before him, Arthur tried to take in the beauty and _magic_ of this wonderful world he’d fallen in love with the past few months. He had been here before, the view from Æsclanğne was far more stirking at night. They were right at the top of the forest, perhaps on the highest tree for miles. The blanket of stars was even more spectacular than most nights, smeared with nebula and minute details that sparkled. The pale moon was full in the sky, smears of wispy cloud curled around it. The whole of Ealdor could be seen from up here, just a small piece of the larger landscape unfolding around. Even the peaks of the Ghedent Mountains were defining the silver horizon.

Watching Arthur admire the view, Merlin hugged his knees tightly, chin resting on his arms. A few minutes passed, Arthur was still taking in the sight. Merlin’s eyes still hadn’t left Arthur’s face.

“I’m so proud of you Arthur.” He admitted, smiling against his own skin. Turning to face the man, beautiful and radiant against the moonlight, Arthur scoffed. Inside he was relieved that Merlin had seemed to go back to normality.

“You’re such a _girl!”_

At these words, Merlin’s expression became solemn. Arthur pretended not to see it, barking out a hollow laugh at how ridiculous the druid could be sometimes. Awkwardly fumbling with his own hands, Merlin sighed. Melancholy filled his chest. He knew this day would come; he just had been desperately trying to avoid it, wanting to pretend that it was a myth and not a standard means of life.

“Speaking of girls…er…you…can..um…” he trailed off, eyes drifting to his feet.

Narrowing his eyes, the blonde studied the hesitance in those words, and distinguished the upset within the man.

“ _What?”_ Arthur asked obliviously.

“Well,” Merlin took a deep breath; this shouldn’t be as hard as it was proving to be. “Now you’re one of us…you can chose a partner.”

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur titled is head curiously at Merlin, who wasn’t looking at him. Realisation hit Arthur on the head. Merlin was _stupid_ and loyal and selfless. Though that wasn’t new news, he had known this a long time ago. Arthur just didn’t think that his stupidity could go _any further_ than it had already. Clearly, he was wrong. He thought about mentioning the kiss, but decided against it. Attempting to mask any emotions, Arthur replied.

“Oh… _really?”_

And before Arthur could continue, Merlin – who resembled a sulking child – began tracing patterns into the mossy tree with a small twig and started _rambling._

“Gwen’s very beautiful, and honest…pure of heart.” He muttered.

Smirking, Arthur watched the sight before him with cheerful amusement. It was all so _obvious_ now. The sight of Merlin moping like a wounded bear lifted his spirits, gave Arthur a stupid amount of hope.

“Yes, she _is_.” He replied thoughtfully; two could play at that game.

Merlin glanced over at Arthur, who was now looking into the night sky. He was too engrossed in his own misery to notice the tiny smirk spread across that face. He should have known the kiss meant nothing; that Arthur would never _truly_ want to kiss him. The silence continued to grow, and then Merlin suddenly began vomiting words against his will.

“Abellana she’s a fine singer, lovely voice. She’s very kind. Willow is a wonderful cook; sure you’d love that, wouldn’t love her temper though she’d put you in place. Or maybe Marlow, _Marlow_ and Arthur-“

“-Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, trying to bottle up the laughter erupting in his chest and failing. “I don’t want Gwen. _Or_ Abellana, Willow, Marlow- I don’t want _anybody_ here.”

That definitely shut Merlin up, and a small twinge of sadness etched over his eyes. Arthur didn’t want _anybody here._ A dull ache in his heart spread through his body, instigating turbulence inside. Noticing the hurt in the druid’s eyes, Arthur sighed and hurled the hidden cards in his hands onto the table. The truth spilled out rather ineloquently. In fact it was muffled and mixed with Merlin’s own defeatist words.

“Oh. Well I guess that’s…”

“-Apart from you-“

“-fine… _?!_ ”

Meeting the blonde’s eyes, Merlin processed the words hesitantly. Arthur was sat silently, a peculiar expression on his face. Merlin wasted too much energy trying to contain his initial shock, leaving him no time to hide the other emotions surfacing. This was everything he had dreamt of hearing, but it couldn’t be. But it _could_ be. Yes. Because Arthur was _everything._ The past six months had best of his life; Merlin would never admit the reason for this aloud. He had watched an arrogant, self-centred _pratface_ who followed his father’s every order like a helpless pawn on the chessboard transform into a _mighty knight._ A knight who had taken the time to learn the druid ways, understand magic and face the challenges of the people. He had passed all three tasks set, he had listened to Merlin’s lessons, and he had been blessed by Albion. He was a gift, the Once and Future; Merlin had no doubt about it. The once and future, and Emrys. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, it sounded too good to be true, that was the problem.

Maybe he’d made the whole thing up in his head, reworked the memories in his head to better suit a fictitious romance that was slowly unwinding. Maybe Arthur’s words had been conjured by magic of some kind, or maybe the Moraþ had induced him somehow to tell lies and break people’s hearts. When Arthur leant over to place a hand on the druid’s knee, Merlin frowned.

“Arthur.” He began, eyes sombre.

“Merlin.” Arthur responded simply, a twinkle of mirth in his eye.

Swallowing-hard, processing the information that had been hurdled his way, Merlin searched those blue orbs methodically. The unspoken things he found within them merely unnerved him further. Ruffling a hand through his messy hair, he let a small smile slip.

“Out of everyone here, you want… _me?”_ the way Merlin said it made it sound as if Arthur was crazy.

Leaning towards Merlin, Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Merlin, considering that you’re Emrys, you’re incredibly _stupid.”_ He watched the druid beside him twist his lips, seemingly unaware of where this was going. Exasperated, Arthur let slip a husky laugh followed by a pensive stare. The thoughts circling his mind all day finally exposed itself from its hiding place.

“I kissed you earlier. You ran away-“

Merlin huffed indignantly at that comment and looked over at the man sceptically.

“-I didn’t _run_ I-“

“-You’re a terrible liar Merlin.” Arthur snapped, the smile on his face contradicting the sharp tone of voice.  Eyes wide, Merlin flushed. A sheepish laugh escaped his lips.

“I’m sorry…it’s just I never thought that _you_ -“

Sensing some sort of selfless comment approaching, Arthur leant forwards a little, dizzying Merlin into silence.

“- _You_ are the only one who really took the time to know me, the only one who accepted me for what I was.”

Shaking his head, Merlin grimaced and attempted to conjure up reasons why the gorgeous man beside him couldn’t possibly be telling the truth.

“B-but you-“

”-and whilst you are a dim-witted _imbecile_ who interrupts my sentences, calls me names such as _dollophead_ and clotpole, and are completely _ignorant_ to any advances I made- I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re special to me Merlin.” Merlin turned his entire body towards Arthur imploringly.

“There’s something about you, and I just feel like…” Arthur’s gaze searched around, as if he could find something to help express himself. “I feel like we’re… _destiny_.”

Grinning, Merlin felt his insides turn into a gooey mush of warmth and fuzziness. He leant towards Arthur impatiently. Mirroring these actions, Arthur cupped the back of Merlin’s neck, luring him closer. The moon created a silhouette of their profiles, ever gaining closer and closer. Proximity taunting, Arthur’s breath landed on Merlin’s lips. Vision blurred, hearts racing. With deliberate slowness, Arthur’s fingers stroked the neck gently. Unable to stand the tension anymore, Merlin bought his hands to the broad shoulders. 

“Just kiss me already.” He whispered, lips gently grazing against Arthur’s as he spoke.

Without hesitation, Arthur sealed the gap fully, capturing Merlin’s lips in a kiss. It was soft, tentative and much more calculated than their previous experience. This time, Merlin didn’t pull away, or stiffen. He relaxed into the gesture of affection, an irrepressible smile spreading. Feeling the shift, Arthur returned the sentiment. The whole moment was so incredibly overwhelming, Merlin found himself overcome with giggles. In response, the blonde pulled him closer fondly, adamant about continuing their soft, playful kiss.

_Better?_

Merlin barely registered the voice in his mind, too content and caught up in Arthur’s exciting presence. Moulding his mouth against his, Merlin felt a swell of glee flutter through his body.

_Yes. Oh yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Folctogan – Commander of the people/ leader  
> Moraþ – Sweet boiled wine with herbs  
> Arfuera - Magical word for ‘Arthur’.  
> Gerwinde - A Druid jig/ reel [Genre I made up, I have actually written this Gerwinde, if you want to hear it in context, I'm releasing a "Music From Ealdor" album after the story consisting of my own music ^^]


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pivotal Chapter guys - that's all I'm going to say. Other than this: FANMIX TRACKS 47-49. TRACK 49 IS SO CRUCIAL GUYS!! 
> 
> Scene 1: Track 47-48 (youtube: Inner Sanctum - James Newton Howards / Forgotten September - Two Steps From Hell  
> Scene 2 & 3: Track 49 (youtube: The Fire Rises - Hans Zimmer)
> 
> (Here is a DIRECT download link to my fanmix, and all of the other parts: http://analyst-1.livejournal.com/52421.html )
> 
> Enjoy...things are heating up now!

 

 

 

The morning sun cascaded through the branches of Æsclanğne, gently trickling over the two figures. Merlin had been awake for a while now, inhaling the fresh air, glancing at the gorgeous man lying beside him on the smooth blanket of leaves. It was a beautiful clear sky, the day blessed with jubilation and glee. One might have suggested that Albion herself had called upon the clouds and sent them elsewhere, allowing Ealdor to bask in the sun’s rays. After all, he was now a druid. Arthur _Pendragon_ was a druid! Albion had accepted him, he was _one of them._ The more Merlin thought about it, the less real it seemed. He feared fate would cruelly snatch Arthur from his hands, sniggering and the world would never be the same again. However, the feeling of dread didn’t last for long. It morphed into avid excitement. Arthur was going to live in Ealdor _forever_ – with him. They could ride the skies on their Wyverns, travel across Albion and discover the vast untouched lands. They could have adventures; they could do _anything_ and _everything._

The once and future, and Emrys.

Merlin felt a smile touch his lips. It was peaceful here, just that little bit further into the forest, away from Ealdor and the other druids. The people, Merlin knew, would have something to say about _this:_ the future clan leader and the future heir of Camelot. For starters, when Merlin instructed Arthur to pick his future partner he had expected it to be a _woman-_ even though in his mind he had _begged_ for it not to be _._ There had been seemingly no – or very little – indication he was attracted to Merlin, who was very much _not_ a woman. Though now he thought about it, perhaps he had deliberately closed off his heart, believing Arthur would bring nothing but pain. Leaning towards the blonde, Merlin pressed his lips against a tuft of chest hair, and then he slowly nuzzled into his neck. A soft groan escaped Arthur, body thrumming with heat and approval.

Lazily, Arthur opened his eyes, blinded by Merlin’s toothy grin. Responding with similar enthusiasm, Arthur propped himself up onto his elbow. Bliss, elated, _happy_ – mere words barely described how he was feeling.

“Good morning.” Merlin said eventually, unable to take his gaze away from those striking blue eyes.

Caressing the back of his neck tenderly, Arthur titled his head playfully. His teeth were exposed with an affectionate chuckle. He’d never felt so… _himself,_ so relaxed and at ease with the world. He would have snorted if someone told him six months ago that he would find internal peace on the top of a random tree in the middle of a forest next to a druid...and possibly a little bit naked.   

“Good morning to you too.”

The words were full of promise. Those crystal blue eyes gazed into his peacefully. The world around was quiet, _content._ Fingers scraping the back of Merlin’s neck, he searched his face leisurely, carefully. Moving his hand from Merlin’s neck, Arthur gently traced those cheekbones, down to his chin, then over the lips, up the bridge of the nose, and the forehead. Craning into the touch, Merlin felt a little nervous under Arthur’s intense stare. He had never really been the conquest of many people’s hearts; love had never really offered itself to him. Until now, with _Arthur Pendragon._ Six months ago, the man he _loathed,_ the man who had stood for _everything_ that went against Albion, _Emrys._ A lot had changed since then. Arthur’s angelic fingers had reached his jawline.  

“What?” he said curiously, unable to contain his words any longer.

“Nothing you just look…” he knew Merlin was going to tease him for _all eternity_ about this sudden sappiness but dammit it was true. “beautiful.”

Streaks of red flourished over Merlin’s pale cheeks. Arthur was instantly compelled to kiss each side of his face, before languidly tasting those luscious lips. There was no rush with this exploration of Merlin’s mouth. It was gentle, tender. It was home.

A sound from nearby pushed the pair apart in surprise.

“Shhh, do you hear that?” Merlin muttered to Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur pulled back, _huffing_ in annoyance. Before he could try and persuade Merlin to ignore the stupid noises – very _disturbing_ noises mind you – and kiss him, the druid was already on his feet resolutely. He chucked his ragged clothing back on using magic effortlessly. Arthur did the same, but still couldn’t master that _damn_ spell properly. Pulling the rest of his t-shirt down, the blonde ignored the smug twitch of Merlin’s lips. Merlin reached for one of the vines, swinging across Æsclanğne and past a few trees. Arthur followed swiftly, his fear of vines relinquished after months of solid practice.

Once again, that metallic, crunching sound echoed through the forest. Arthur became unnerved by the sound; Merlin was merely curious, not knowing any better. They continued diving gracefully through the trees, searching for the source of the foreign noise. Doubt consumed Arthur, his heart racing in trepidation. The closer the noise became, the more it sounded like machinery- Camelot machinery. That could only mean _one thing_ and one thing alone. Panicking, Arthur leapt onto one of the trees, gesturing for Merlin to do the same. The raven-haired man landed beside him, confused at Arthur’s almost _fearful_ expression.

“Merlin _wait_ ,” he began. “We should go back to Ealdor.”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin latched back onto his vine.

“Becoming all _domestic_ already, are we?” he teased, swinging forwards. “Where’s your sense of adventure gone?”

Sighing, hiding the smile tickling his mouth, Arthur reluctantly pursued Merlin through the forest. That horrifying sound echoed through their ears. This time it was _really_ close, almost deafening to their ears. Flinching, Merlin steered the vine onto the nearest tree, landing a little clumsily. Arthur quickly landed, eyes wide. It _was_ a machine, that must was obvious. Swapping concerned glances, the pair made their way towards the source, walking across the arms of the tree they had climbed. Suddenly, the tree shook violently, swinging from side to side. Grabbing Merlin’s arm to stabilise his balance, Arthur looked up in horror, coming face to face with a dark secret, a dark past.

It was one of Camelot’s machines. A giant bulldozer was ploughing its way through the vegetation. The tree they were stood on barely missed the serrated edges of the side blades. Arthur had no doubt of their intentions, and narrowed his eyes. Merlin was already _reacting_ before he could try to explain.

“Hey, STOP!” Merlin roared in shock.

He was unsure of what exactly this strange thing was- but he knew _exactly_ what it was doing. It was _cutting down the forest –_ destroying the trees! Merlin felt his magic seethe lividly. How _dare_ they do this! This was an ancient forest, an old, untouched paradise home to thousands of _people._ Defacing such beauty was unacceptable. Without thought, Merlin jumped from the branch onto the vast metallic object, pummelling it with dents from violent bursts of magic.

“ _MERLIN!_ ” Arthur shrieked in fear over the booming noise.

Instantly, from one of the hatches on the roof, a weapon appeared and opened fire in Merlin’s direction. This was where Arthur truly appreciated Merlin’s dexterity. He dived away from the weapon hatch effortlessly, not yielding in his hopeless fight against the machine. The machine continued pushing forwards, towards the next layer of vegetation. Arthur watched the scene in terror; Merlin was getting alarmingly close to the edge of the blades. Frantically, Arthur jumped onto the next tree to keep up with the machine.

A few seconds later Merlin realised his mistake and decided it was best to retreat. He tried to hoist himself onto the tree Arthur was. As he did so, he cried out in pain. He landed chaotically on the thick trunk, clutching his shoulder. Arthur dashed to Merlin’s side, unaware that he was screaming his name out over the intense noise. He studied the bloody wound, gaping. One of the bullets had caught him. Arthur averted his eyes towards the machine; he saw _red._ He was _beyond_ furious, he was a volcano waiting to erupt and obliterate everything in his path. Now Camelot had gone _too far_ and he had to put an end to this for good. Grabbing a vine, Arthur propelled himself onto the window of the machine, banging against the glass to get the people’s attention. Immediately, the machine halted. The noise died down; the silence wasn’t peaceful anymore, it was eerie and haunting.

“Recognise my face?” he said, unsure if they could hear him. Not like it _actually mattered_ , every employee knew who Arthur Pendragon was, regardless of his or her position. The men’s eyes widened as they processed him. His expression darkened; becoming severe. His blue eyes turned silver. Outstretching his hand, he fired a beam of light at the window, causing it to crack down the middle.

“Turn back and LEAVE.” He commanded fiercely, body trembling. “This place is to remain _untouched_.”

The machine started up again, only this time reversing itself back through the destruction it had caused. Arthur studied the scars of ugly metal tracks imprinted on the ground for miles. Trees were flattened, habitats destroyed, nature _harmed_ and ruthlessly cast aside. He frowned at the sight; it was sickening. This was immoral, _wrong._ His father – why hadn’t he protested sooner against him? Morgana was _right._ Only Arthur had the power to implement change successfully. It would have taken time but it _could_ have stopped all of this. Perhaps if he’d stood up to Uther sooner they wouldn’t even _be_ in Albion. Merlin would be safe. They’d all be safe. Part of him wished that he’d still be standing here, that even if he had made the _right choice,_ fate was inevitably going to lead him here, to this very spot with Merlin. He doubted it would have, yet wishing was all he could do to ease his conscience.

An exclamation of discomfort and aching drew him back into the present. _Merlin._ Rushing to Merlin’s side, he’d miraculously managed to maneuverer his wounded body onto the tree, Arthur inspected the shoulder urgently. Blood was streaming _too fast_ from the shoulder. Arthur tried to maintain composure when he saw his own hands were bloody. Merlin chuckled – _chuckled –_ which did not initiate the same response from Arthur.

“I don’t see anything _funny_ about this.” Arthur grunted tetchily, silencing the other man promptly.

Sometimes Merlin really was full of wonders as he boasted to be (Arthur remembered that day in the forest, the two were squabbling and jeering almost as much as he and Morgana used to). But it was always for things neither expected: like _stupidity,_ foolishness and being _too_ blasé with putting his own _life_ at risk _._ Merlin had been _shot_ by Camelot. The gravity of the statement frightened Arthur, actually _frightened him._ Shit. Mentally cursing, the blonde frowned.

“I’ve seen worse,” he said quickly, trying to reassure himself more than Merlin. “I’ve _definitely_ seen worse.”

Well that was a big fat lie, Arthur had been privileged enough to have never encountered injuries worse than a scraped knee or paper-cut. It was only in movies and TV shows he watched he’d seen this scale of injury. Although the wound _looked_ grave, Arthur was thankful that the bullet had grazed over Merlin’s shoulder- _grazed._ It hadn’t even punched through the skin. Just imagining all the other _fatal_ places it could have landed – his chest, his head, a little higher up through his neck-

-Silently, Arthur held his palm over the shoulder, magic emanating from it. He was no Merlin that was for sure, he wasn’t even _that_ great a sorcerer, but this simple soothing spell was one he hoped would slow the bleeding. It also, if Arthur recalled correctly, induced the body into a resting state. Recognising what he had done, Merlin scowled petulantly. He tried to sit up in protest but failed miserably.

“I’m fine. I don’t _need_ any spells, dollophead.”

The weary tone in his voice, the blood spewing from his shoulder told Arthur otherwise. Tearing a strip of cloth form his t-shirt, Arthur secured it around the shoulder desperately. His heartbeat quickened in panic as he watched the green shirt darken with blood. Shit. Why was he still bleeding? The spell was supposed to stop the blood. Scooping the druid up in his arms, Arthur kissed the man’s temple fiercely. He had to stay calm, _brave_ for Merlin, just like Merlin had done for him many days ago. Despite the pain searing in his body, Merlin – the blundering fool –squirmed against Arthur.

“Leave me!” he hissed, afraid for the safety of the blonde after having seen what that machine could do.

Arthur thought it was the most ridiculous thing Merlin’s _ever_ said, and that discounted a _hell of a lot_ of things. Like he was ever going to leave Merlin _anywhere_.

“Now’s not the time for jokes.” he nonchalantly retorted, beginning to steadily make his way across the vast network of trees. He was no longer able to take the vines, worried he wouldn’t be able to support Merlin. Thus, he now was meticulously climbing over the overlapping branches.

The loud sound of crunching and motors faded into the distance, yet Merlin’s body was full of questions, _curiosity._ What were those things? _Who sent them?_ What if they came back? Worry. Arthur wouldn’t stand a _chance_ with Merlin in his arms. He would be crushed, pummelled under those blades and large things that squished everything in its way.

“Please, leave me.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur sped up his pace, trying to hide his anxiety with a weak smirk. He hoped it was convincing.

“Sure, _whatever_ you say.”

After ten minutes of Arthur carrying the druid to safety, Merlin had clearly become a little delirious, thanking his ‘noble sir’ for his ‘chivalry’, and then he demanded to be _released_ so that he could ‘walk’. It triggered the first _genuine_ laugh Arthur had expressed since the machines. Merlin still had some strength, he was still fighting. That was enough for Arthur to hold onto and cherish. When Arthur repositioned Merlin, draping him over his back, the druid groaned dramatically.

“Fear not damsel, your _noble sir_ is only trying to help.”

Twenty long minutes later, he finally reached his destination; Ealdor. The settlement was quiet, barely any druids were outside. He was lucky it was still relatively early, drawing attention to himself or Merlin would be the last thing he needed right now. He spotted a familiar woman. Gwenevere immediately dropped what she was preoccupied with; the bucket fell to the ground, water hypnotically flowing. Tranquillity morphed into panic when she saw the streaks of blood on both Arthur and Merlin. Urgently, she rushed towards them. Gwen cupped her mouth in shock.

“Merlin!” she yelped in surprise, catching Arthur’s eyes in a wide terrified, gaze. “What _happened?!”_ The people who had woken, sensing a change in atmosphere, started to gather round, watching the sight. Arthur _prayed_ so hard that William was still asleep, he had no doubt the druid would probably _try to murder him._ He wasn’t surprised by this notion at all. Will was probably the wisest of _all_ the druids; he had never trusted Arthur or the Pendragon’s. Now it seemed that was the _best_ decision.

“Machine…” Merlin moaned, seemingly half-conscious and oblivious to his surroundings. “…they’re…coming.”

Before anything could escalate, Gwen ushered them towards one of the small healing rooms, urging Arthur to lay Merlin down onto the bed. The noise outside dimmed a little, as Gwen noted to pass on a tad of reassurance he would be okay through the minds of the people. To her relief, nobody followed. Although she knew Balinor and Hunith would be arriving soon. xOpening the clothing wrapped around the shoulder, Gwen examined the wound on Merlin’s shoulder.

“He’s been shot?!” pressing the material down to try and control the bleeding, Gwen bit her lip and supressed a cry.

“Will he be okay?” Arthur asked hurriedly, pacing back and forth restlessly

His mind had been asking the same goddamn question _all the way_ back to Ealdor despite having appeased a drowsy Merlin with snide remarks. He worried even his small spell had done more harm than good. Gwenevere, however, seemed to gain composure as she studied the wound once more. Her breathing was steady, her expression neutral. Nodding gently, she shot him a forced smile.

“It just looks like the bullet has grazed the top of the shoulder.” Peering into the cut, she continued. “No sign of it going too deep.” She tilted her head slightly to inspect something, then gazed up at a concerned Arthur comfortingly. “Your spell to control the bleed is taking its toll well.”

Refraining from pacing, Arthur sat beside Merlin.

“You can heal him?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Not fully,” she frowned, brushing a palm over Merlin’s brow affectionately. “Merlin can do the rest once he’s conscious.”

She didn’t need to elaborate. They both knew that the odds were fortunately in their favour. The bullet hadn’t done as much damage as it could have. Not forgetting that Merlin was _Emrys._ He could heal himself in no time once he broke from the deep, healing sleep he was currently in. Glancing down at the man, Arthur’s eyes lingered on the wound. Then his eyes wavered over the face, softening as they brushed over the defined cheekbones, plump lips, long, dark eyelashes…he didn’t realise he had moved closer to Merlin, hovering extremely close. His mouth pressed gently against those lips, stealing a chaste kiss for what he thought was the last time _._ That’s what Merlin did to him, blurred and skewed his surroundings through sheer lust and _love_ dare he say it. Merlin shifted his perception of everything, the only thing in the foreground Arthur truly absorbed.

Gwenevere lowered her gaze awkwardly, not wanting to ruin a private moment. The suspicions that Arthur had chosen Merlin as his lover, rumours circulating that the pair were together intimately appeared to be true. Of course, with this newfound knowledge it was _a reality,_ Gwen would not tell a soul. She had never been the type to spread around secrets or manifest tales. Clearing her throat, she watched Arthur trace gentle circles with his forefinger around Merlin’s bare shoulder – the uninjured one. Lifting his gaze eventually, Arthur met Gwen’s flushed face. He smiled sheepishly back at her. How could he have forgotten she was there? _Merlin_ – he cursed.

Laughing lightly, Gwen’s lips lifted into a radiant smile.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

Arthur mentally scoffed. Her voice was full of hope and honesty. She had _no idea_ who he really was, what he _used to be._ His eyes lit up a little at her praise. And then his face became sad, _so_ unbelievably sad. Noticing this, Gwen dabbed Merlin’s wound delicately and pried for an explanation delicately.

“Those people, _you knew them_ \- didn’t you?”

Standing up brusquely, Arthur nodded. _Boy_ did he know them alright- and he knew what they were capable of. This was out of the druid’s hands now. Arthur was the only one who could do something about this. For once, he was going to do what his sister had always told him to do: fight for justice and _do the right thing._ Not leaving Merlin’s side, Gwen narrowed her eyes.

“Where are you going?” she asked, detecting the insistence in his brisk actions.

“Don’t worry I’ll be back.” He reassured rather blandly, unconvincingly. His eyes drifted to Merlin. “Look after him, _please.”_

Watching Arthur’s eyes glow with magic, Gwen interjected quickly.

“Arthur!” he turned to her in surprise. “You’re a brave man, with a good heart.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, poignantly. Oh _no._ This was not true, Gwen was the one with the good heart. His heart was black, _tainted_ and corrupt. Then with a few muttered words, and sparkling particles of gold and silver, Arthur was gone.

**♦☼♦**

Opening his eyes, Arthur felt his body adjust to the new location instinctively. He was now in the one place he once felt comfortable in; Camelot Base. Now it was nothing but a large building, full of deceit and lies. Peering around the empty corridor cautiously, Arthur didn’t waste time. He silently sped down the hallway, turning sharply left when he heard voices approaching. Turning left was a _big mistake._ Walking in front of him were two people he _certainly_ didn’t want to see: Valiant and Cedric. All it would take was for _one of them_ to look over their shoulders briefly, and his cover would be blown. Quickly, he backed into the nearest alcove. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to calm down his body. Panic was flooding through his system. The weight of everything that had happened hit him hard. The bulldozer was _ploughing through the forest._ It had opened fire against them, against _Merlin_ without a second thought. And Arthur knew exactly why, six months had passed. No negotiation had been made. The consequences of the secret agenda were revealing themselves. _It was all over._ Cedric and Valiant’s voices flooded through his ears, they were turning around, moving past the alcove he was squeezed into.

He was too distraught to filter out sound into distinguishable words. The moment their voices faded round the corner, he opened his eyes and slipped out of the alcove.

Walking in a rather paranoid fashion down the corridor, he continued his mission. He needed to find the one person he _could trust_  - Morgana. Leon had no doubt been roped into this whole agenda somehow, probably against his own _knowledge._ Uther was remarkably good at being a cunning, secretive leader when he wanted to be. His poor friend had probably been told lies and deceived. Cautiously, Arthur scanned the hallway for security cameras, relieved is father had shown him the initial layout of the place. It gave him at least _one_ advantage. Nonetheless, he felt extremely vulnerable around here. It wasn’t as if he could disguise himself (he’d barely even mastered the invisibility spell Merlin had tried to teach him) he was _Arthur fucking Pendragon_. Every person _here_ knew exactly what he looked like. Every person here _knew_ what he had done- he’d left the business, he’d _given up_ and become a druid. One wrong move, and that was it. Hell, they could even _take him to the labs_ now.

Glancing up at the signs, hands sweaty, Arthur took the next right down a dimly lit passage-

-A pair of arms grabbed Arthur from behind, spinning him backwards. At fist he raised his arms, about to strike. Then his eyes met the dark-haired woman, her face misted over with fear. She hastily dragged him into one of the rooms leading off the corridor, locking it behind her. Before he could fully process the second emotion embedded in her eyes, Morgana threw her arms tightly around him, pulling him close.

“Uther’s gone _crazy,”_ she whispered in his ear as he caressed her dark curls in relief that his sister was safe. “He’s gearing up for war, they’re going to attack the Ealdor clan, and destroy the Crystal Cave.”

Arthur stiffened, body growing numb. Releasing him from her grasp, she met his concerned expression. Arthur leant towards her, desperate and wild.

“Y-You are _certain_ of this?” he asked slowly, the world around him becoming hazy, a little too overwhelming at the mere prospect of everything he ever feared becoming reality.

He should have taken his father’s words more seriously. He should have _somehow_ stopped the whole fucking project from getting _this far._ Six months down the line, Arthur Pendragon had done _nothing_ but indulge in his own fantasies and escapism. Morgana nodded darkly, confirming the horrific truth. Her eyes were wide and watery.

“I heard he and Morgause discussing it.”

Turning away from Morgana, Arthur paced back and forth irritably. _Shit._ This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to _protect_ Merlin and his people from all of this. He was supposed to _negotiate_ their terms of moving. But they’d _never move._ This whole project was doomed from the start – he should have established that far sooner than he did. Merlin. The memory of the unconscious state he’d been in when he left troubled him. Angrily he lashed out at the table, knocking it over furiously. It landed with a mighty crashed, the contents spilling over the floor. Morgana gazed towards the door anxiously before scolding him.

“ _What_ are you doing?!” she hissed. “If _anyone_ sees you Arthur you’ll be-”

“-I don’t care. I… _aaah.”_ He tried to calm down, he really did. But it was no longer an option. “I have to go back and warn them,” he pressed a hand to his throbbing temple. “If they stay they’ll – _Merlin-_ they’ll…” he took a breath to try and compose himself again. “die.”

“I’ll come with you.” Morgana said resolutely.

“No.” He snapped, and spoke quickly before she could unleash her rage against his likely reasoning. “I need someone on the _inside I can trust_.”

Walking towards the heavily armoured wall, Arthur scanned the weapons and devices carefully, _calmly._ He could not afford to panic now and throw away _any_ chance of saving his home, his people, his friends. The only hope _they had_ was a strategy of some kind. His eyes met what he was looking for. Arthur picked up the device, handing it to her and taking one for himself.

“Contact me on this.”

Voices sounded from outside, unnerving the pair. It was Arthur’s cue to leave. He knew the longer he stayed, the more danger he would put Ealdor and himself in. As he darted out the door, Morgana followed swiftly.

“Arthur, be careful _please_ …” her voice drenched in sincerity; the usual sarcasm was nowhere to be found. Arthur didn’t like it; it proved that this wonderful dream had become a nightmare. “You’re like a brother to me.”

Halting in his tracks, Arthur’s lips upturned at the irony of her words. Oh- if only she _knew_ the truth. If only he had the heart to tell her. As much as he desired to, now was not the time for family affairs. He couldn’t tell her that she had magic, that she was Uther Pendragon’s daughter – and then _disappear._ No, this was something that unfortunately had to wait. Now was the time to try and get the people to _evacuate_ before his father destroyed _everything._

Assuming the smile on his lips was for other reasons, (perhaps a fragment of their usual banter of pride and complacency) Morgana pinched him gently, a small smirk emanating.

“As much as I _hate_ to admit it, I couldn’t bear anything happening to you.”

The smile faded as the words sunk in. It reminded Arthur that this was all very much a reality, people _could_ get hurt – Merlin already had been – people _could_ die. And if he didn’t go back to Ealdor soon and get them all to move, their blood would be on his hands, not his father’s. This was _his fault._ This had been _his_ agenda, his _responsibility_ had been to try and move the druids away. He had failed severely; the consequences of his actions were truly grave. Swallowing-hard, the blonde raked a hand through his hair, a grimace dusting his features.

“Morgana…there are things in this world…” _I am responsible for this. “_ Things that I…” _I did this. I caused this._ Casting his eyes down feebly to the ground, unable to continue, Arthur blinked rapidly. Remorse clouded over him. It hadn’t even begun, yet he knew if it did – _when_ it all did, it was his fault.

“ _Morgana_ this…”

Morgana’s warm smooth hands intertwined with his own, softly kneading the skin with her thumbs. It was as if she understood what he wanted to say. Gazing into her weary eyes, Arthur found that she too had a story, a story he had neglected, been selfish to ignore. Despite different stories, their minds were fixated on the same thing: Uther Pendragon; _Ealdor._

“I know Arthur,” she whispered. “I _know.”_

Arthur smiled poignantly. No, she didn’t _know._ She didn’t know _anything,_ not even her own secrets. Worse, she didn’t know what he did, what he had been asked to do all those months ago. If she _did_ know, he doubted she would even be talking to him right now, he doubted _anybody_ would. Swallowing-hard, he slipped out of her touch, sending her one final sad look before leaving her, all alone once again.  

**♦☼♦**

“Seize him!” A voice roared, and like a deer caught in the headlights, Arthur froze in the hallway.

Running was pointless. They all had guns. He was certain Uther would do _anything_ to capture his rogue son, the son who had disinherited his father, fallen in league with the ‘traitors’. Arthur had to play the _game,_ be smart and composed about all of this. If Arthur injured himself, he’d never make it back to Ealdor to save the clan. He needed more than _anything_ to get there before hell itself did. Two men brutally restrained him as the man he once called father strode slowly towards him. Arthur growled viciously at the man. Uther looked upon his son sternly, emotion drained from his face. Hatred morphed into anxiety. Yes, this man had done _terrible_ things that had destroyed Arthur. But this man was capable of things _so terrible_ it could annihilate an entire settlement, it could completely obliterate _everything._

“Uther,” Arthur hissed, tongue tripping over that word in panic. He realised that now his worst fear was _very much_ a reality. Uther – the man he once called father - could pull the plug on Ealdor easily. He’d _seen_ what the fucking bulldozer could do- and that was just _one_ of possibly hundreds. Not to mentions the other kind of machines that had been flocking in the past six months. “I _beg of you-_ you cannot do this!”

“Magic is evil. It has taken you from me.” Uther said, eyes distantly searching the ceiling before locking onto those unfamiliar eyes. So much had changed within those azure orbs. _Magic._ Magic had destroyed his son. _Emrys-_ he knew was behind all of it. Of course Emrys would try and destroy everything precious to him, _revenge_ for everything he had done to the druids presumably.

“You did that all by yourself with your treachery and greed.” Arthur spat menacingly, voice threatening. “ _You_ have hunted their kind like _animals-”_

“-they are animals.” Uther replied. “The druids are _dangerous,_ savage _.”_ Leaning towards his son imploringly he pressed a hand against his cheek. “Can’t you see my boy?They need to be taught a lesson, they need to be _controlled_.”

It was time to put the druids back in their place.

Without hesitation, Arthur spat in disgust, causing his father to step back in alarm. The rude, disrespectful gesture clearly angered him, instigating a newfound ferocity beyond anything Arthur had ever known.

“I will kill them all Arthur.” He said, evoking a panic inside Arthur, one he had never felt before in his life, because he knew his father wasn’t lying. “I will destroy Ealdor until it’s nothing but a pile of ash and dust-”

 “-No.” Arthur whispered, trying to blur out the words, clamping his eyes shut. Don’t listen to him, don’t fucking listen to that bastard! Don’t _let him_ play you. Too late. Uther knew he’d hit a soft spot.

“-Your magic friends, _Merlin,_ will perish in the flames, or die of heartbreak. Then I will destroy the Crystal Cave, and when I am done-”

Hysterically, Arthur struggled against the vice grip, leaning towards his father, eyes wide in fear. He aborted his strategy. Remaining calm was futile, because how the fuck could he possibly stay _calm_ when he _knew_ how vulnerable Ealdor was?

“-No _please, please stop-”_ he murmured despairingly.

“-and it will be all your doing-”

 _All his doing-_ yes. It _was_ all his doing. He caused this. Uther’s voice was quiet, almost _taunting._

“For _you_ are the one who has known my intentions from the very beginning, yet failed to act until it was too late…”

Arthur continued to fight against the men holding him, wanting nothing more than to lash out at his father and do what Merlin _didn’t let him do:_ plunge a blade deep into the blackest heart in the world and _terminate it_. His mother had died by Uther’s hand, thousands of druids were held in captivity in the labs. Arthur dreaded to think of _how many lives_ had been lost through Camelot Enterprise – his _former company._ The company he once had _marvelled_ and _adored._ Fuck. This was all so fucked up. This was all so fucking wrong. And there was nothing he could do right now.

“I will _never_ forgive you for this.” His voice was swathed in horror.

Turning his back on the blonde man, his _bewitched son,_ Uther strode forwards.

“Take him away-“

“ _NO!”_

Eyes glowing silver, Arthur yelled out frenziedly. The men on each side of him slammed into the wall, instantly falling unconscious. Looking upon Arthur, Uther glowered and reached for one of several red buttons that laced the walls of this building; lockdown. Sirens shrieked through the building, red flashing light pulsating through the corridors. Striding forwards, palm outstretched, Arthur took a step forwards. He watched his father gaze upon his with detestable eyes, his _son_ could do _magic._ His son was a _druid;_ he had _become_ one of those vermin. The look on Uther’s face was enough to eradicate any former emotional attachment Arthur once had to the man. It proved once again how shallow and narrow-minded his father was with magic.

“I won’t let you do this. This is their _home.”_ _My home,_ he thought sadly.

Taking a step forwards, Uther narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t stop me.” 

Arthur, hearing the sound of people flocking to Uther’s aid, shut his eyes and slipped into the teleporting vortex. Words he pretended not to hear eerily pounded through his head.

You can’t stop me. You _can’t_ stop me.

 _You._ can’t. stop. _Me._

The words soared around his mind as blinding colours whizzed around him. The words flourished into a lethal idea.

He couldn’t stop _Uther._

Arthur Pendragon was powerless.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Part of the Fanmix now (downloadable here: http://analyst-1.livejournal.com/52421.html) 
> 
> For this part TRACK 51 / Youtube "Rue's Farewell - James Newton Howard" is what I had in mind for the first part of this chapter. I've extended the chapter, so you may need to have the track on repeat now until the crucial moment!
> 
> TRACK 52 - I've cut this track myself so you'll need the Fanmix download or it won't be effective.
> 
> Then TRACK 53 / Youtube "Blissful Mountain - Atmosphere Music" .
> 
> I'd suggest starting track 52 on the work "livid" (I'll underline it!) then track 53 should flow right in :) 
> 
> Enjoy this one - or don't. I kind of hope it hurts you. 
> 
> Ps- sorry if there are typos I've missed. I wrote the first draft for this chapter months ago, so I've read/edited it so many times over now I could probably recite it! Thus, simple things have become difficult for me to spot!
> 
> Anyway - let the show begin...

When he arrived back in Ealdor (back in the healing room to be more precise), he _felt_ rather than saw Merlin’s recovery. The raven-haired man latched onto Arthur ferociously, seemingly fully healed as both he and Gwen had predicted he would be. Arthur didn’t respond, gazing over Merlin’s head to a curious Gwenevere. She said nothing, studying his ashen complexion, the unfamiliar expression on his face. Cupping the blonde man’s face, Merlin gazed into the azure eyes, frosted over with something he couldn’t quite identify.

“You _idiot!”_ he exclaimed, brushing aside Arthur’s strange mood for a moment. He could pry later, right now he just wanted _time_ with the man. “I’ve been awake for a whole _hour_ now and nobody could tell me the hell where you’d gone. I was worried sick.”

With each gentle touch to his face, Arthur felt guilty, _sinful._ With each second they stood here together, he was lying to Merlin for longer; he was tearing Merlin’s heart apart before the poor boy even knew it. For what he had caused was unforgivable. The longer he indulged in his fairy-tale world of happy rainbows and Merlin’s kisses and the people’s love, the less time they had to prepare for the looming attack. Releasing himself from Merlin’s grasp suddenly, Arthur stared vacantly around the room.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “…what is it?”

Steering himself away from Merlin’s next attempt at physical contact – it was for their own good, Arthur should never have let this happen – Arthur blinked slowly. Hell, he was in _too deep_ here. He had burrowed himself into Merlin’s heart, into _Ealdor’s_ heart. He couldn’t let Merlin get any more attached to him. But he knew it was too late. There was no turning back now from all of this. Confused by the rejection – did Arthur not _want_ him anymore? - Merlin swallowed-hard, eyes scanning the other man’s face. Maybe it was all a mistake; maybe Arthur had too much to drink last night, and wasn’t _actually_ intending to chose Merlin as a partner. He could find no trace of emotion other than dejection and regret which _hurt_ more than expected.

“Gather the people together Merlin,” Arthur eventually managed to say, not looking into the druid’s eyes. “there’s something they all need to hear.”

Wordlessly he left the house, not even glancing Merlin’s direction. Holding back the angry tears behind his eyes, Merlin closed his eyes and sighed. He had no idea why Arthur had suddenly become so impassive. Perhaps it was something to do with the machine? Somehow, he couldn’t help but feel like he was _missing_ some vital piece of information. He turned to Gwen for a moment who returned the bewildered glance.

_People of Ealdor, Arfuera brings us a message. Assemble._

He left the room after delivering the message, heading for the plateau where his father and mother would be standing. Formerly playing with one of the young druids, Gwaine stood up at the sound of Merlin’s voice in his head. This druid communication thing never ceased to startle him. But what he _saw_ startled him further. His eyes caught the blonde Pendragon leaving Gwenevere’s house, looking like he was headed for the gallows. Merlin exited a second later, face dismal. Instead of walking alongside Arthur, the pair were rarely seen separated, he stood still for a few moments. This was the first indication that something was not quite right. Pushing past a couple of druids, Gwaine walked beside Arthur hastily. He’d never seen his friend like this, in _all his life_ , all their eight years of knowing each other. In that moment, he _knew,_ something terrible had happened. Not even the presence of Gwaine, his oldest friend, could comfort Arthur. This was something he had gotten himself into alone, and had to face _alone._

“What are you _doing?”_ the brown-haired man hissed.

“What I should have done the moment I got here.” He replied, Gwaine’s eyes widened.

“Arthur,” the rugged man interjected, clutching him by his shirt. “Things have changed, you _belong_ here. Your duties to Camelot and,” he lowered his voice, scanning the area for any eavesdroppers. “What you were _told to do,_ it's in the past _-_ ”

It was no secret between them what this rather ambiguous statement was gesticulating towards. Arthur shook his head, quickening his pace.

“-No Gwaine, I neglected my responsibility, my _power_ to implement change…” he sighed, coming to a halt beside his old friend. “There once was a time where I could have used my title to _change_ the views on magic.” He frowned. “But I _didn’t.”_ Gwaine returned the grimace, unable to deny the _truth_ to that sentence. Yes, Arthur Pendragon _did_ have the power to change Camelot gradually into a peaceful business. Gwaine replied, but the silence between was _too long_ and told Arthur everything he needed to know.  

“-It doesn’t matter what you _didn’t_ do Arthur-”

“-It matters now. Now because of _my_ mistake, thousands of lives are at stake.” He snapped at his friend.

“ _Don’t_ try and tell me otherwise,” Arthur added as Gwaine opened his mouth clearly to interject. “You _know_ this is my doing. I was given that bloody agenda, and I did _nothing_ to stand against it or nothing to prevent the consequences.” Pause. Arthur averted his vision to the large trees surrounding Ealdor in wonder. “Instead I…heard destiny’s call, found where I belong,” Arthur laughed bitterly, eyes watery and distant. _“I fell in love.”_

Before Gwaine could ask any further questions, Arthur was walking through the parted crowd, towards Merlin, Balinor and Hunith. The four of them stood before the people. Merlin desperately wanted to reach for Arthur’s hand, check that he was okay. Instead, he caught those eyes in a firm gaze. It didn’t last long; Arthur broke it resiliently.

“Drúte, what is it you have to say?” Balinor softly asked, eyes warm and _foolishly_ trusting, just like Merlin’s.

Arthur pressed his clenched fists to his sides, eyes blinking rapidly before clearing his swollen throat. He knew this time would come, of course he did. The fate of Ealdor was inevitable, despite the efforts of poor appeasement and the impatient stirring of possible solutions for long months. But he did not expect to be standing on the side of those he once was _spying on._ And – he smiled dismally at the irony – they didn’t even _know_ his initial orders, or what he had been burdened with; the impending destruction of their home- _his_ home. It was going to burn; it was going to become nothing but a pile of ash and dust-

- _No._

Amidst the clan of druids, he caught Gwaine’s gaze; lips drawn into a stern line of gravity for reasons only a handful knew: the spoiled handful from Camelot enterprise. Pressing a hand to the bridge of his nose, an overwhelming feeling of dizziness hit the blonde Pendragon. This was it, and fuck, he didn’t _know_ what he was going to say. How on earth could he voice this…this _panic?_ Immediately noticing the concerning behaviour, Merlin rushed forwards, but was met with a sharp, abrupt shift in Arthur’s aura. Arthur twisted out of Merlin’s reach, wincing at the way the druid reacted to the motion.

Raising his head with what would be mistaken for confidence – his heart quivered against his ribs, erratic breaths sieved through his pursed lips - Arthur gathered the attention of the druid clan, his _family,_ his _people._ The next moment of hesitation could have been described as a selfish indulgence on Arthur’s part. His eyes soaked up the vast landscape of striking chartreuse vegetation against the enigmatic crystal cave, then the people who had grown to love and trust him, the peace and tranquillity amongst them all for this _one tiny moment_ , Merlin’s engaging eyes, his gentle lips, his warm complexion-

\- The moment passed too quickly. Arthur opened his mouth, and delivered the message he was _born to deliver._ He could literally _feel_ the warmth seeping from his body leaving him quivering with cold.

“I bring you,” pause. Deep breath – come _on_ Arthur you haven’t got time to stall.His eyes looked anywhere but into those of the people. “A message of great importance.” Merlin tried to dismiss the obvious tremor in his voice.  “As you all know, Merlin and I were attacked this morning by Camelot’s machines- Uther’smachines.”

Murmurs spread themselves amongst the crowd, gasping thrown occasionally into the mix. The raven-haired druid beside Arthur frowned as he cast a look at his father. Balinor’s expression was severe; fearful. They both knew this day would come. As Merlin dreaded, the Crystals of Ealdor were right- the humans just couldn’t resist their greed and primitive instinct to dominate all. They were going to try and utilise the land, exploit their natural resources and evoke a mass conflict with the druids. Expecting the blonde to continue with a suggestion of how to respond, Merlin was taken-aback by the next words, which created an uneasy shiver to descend down his body.

“But it’s more than that.” Shutting his eyes for a moment, Arthur hurled away the emotions batting at his eyes and prodding his brain. Traitor, _traitor, you set them up, you knew it. You’re going to be the reason they all die. Ealdor will burn and perish._ Eyes opening, he sighed.

“They’re coming;” words spewed out of his mouth quickly, laced in an undertone of terror that was detected easily by the druids. Some began to shuffle uncomfortably; others focused more of their attention onto him. “They’re coming to destroy Ealdor. If you don’t run now it’ll be too late.”

Narrowing his eyes, Merlin took a step towards Arthur, trying to overlook the confusion that was blurring his vision. He could have _sworn_ Arthur had just said people were coming to destroy Ealdor. Wow, _what?!_ But surely even _they_ knew it was sacred…one dangerous question sprouted in his mind. The more he tried to push it aside, the more it consumed him. The question scared him, particularly now observing Arthur. Exhaling a shaky break, he decided to voice the dangerous question. Little did Merlin know, it was the question that would change _everything forever._

“-How do you know this?” He asked slowly, staring into the blue eyes that seemed incapable of meeting his own. Another unpleasant shiver attacked his spine.

Gwaine bit his lip, gazing at a morose Lancelot who kissed Gwen’s hand tenderly. Turning to the man, the woman studied the lines etched into his forehead. About to pursue curiosity, Gwen gently squeezed his hand. Arthur had been acting peculiar since arriving back from Camelot, and so were his two friends. Her mind was thinking the worst; her heart was helplessly clinging onto the grains of sand that hadn’t yet slipped out of her grasp. But before she could state her worry, another voice caught her attention.

“Because,” Arthur choked, swallowing-hard. _Shit._ He bowed his head, a strange sound spewing from his mouth. _Come on Arthur,_ you can do it. Just _tell him._ It wasn’t so hard, tell the truth – maybe get redemption, but _definitely_ save a whole settlement. Arthur’s behaviour alone sparked the fear inside Merlin. Frantically, he took a step backwards, shaking his head. _No._ No. Breathe Merlin, _come on_ let him finish before jumping to conclusions. Reluctantly, Arthur lifted his head, and used every last inch of force inside to regurgitate the words lodged in his throat.

“Six months ago, my father gave me this mission: to get you to move, or deliver this very message to you.”

Gwaine pressed his eyelids together tightly, bowing his head. Arthur wished he’d not chosen that moment to finally look into Merlin’s eyes. A raging inferno burned within the iris, and spread through his bloodstream. His skin was searing with heat. His eyes became a glacial mass of hostility, the thickening ice around the pupil an attempt to detach emotions from this scenario. It failed miserably, Arthur could see that much.

It wasn’t the initial wave of anger that sent a terminal crack down Arthur’s heart – it was the way Merlin seemed to lose _everything:_ light, hope, joy, and replaced it with a void of nothing. Then the ice melted into a layer of tears, uncontrollable tears that came from the deepest part of him. _No._ How could Arthur… _do this?_ He thought he…he _knew_ Arthur, understood the man. Leaning towards Arthur with shimmering, wet eyes, Merlin held a hand to his throbbing head. It wasn’t just his head that was in pain, everywhere hurt. His muscles ached with a sensation, his breathing became difficult, and his _heart- oh._ His heart was crumbling into oblivion at this recent revelation. It was sobbing inside him wretchedly, scolding his mind for not taking charge and telling him he was being rendered a _fool_ the whole time. Arthur _, his Arthur-_ no. Never his Arthur, _always_ Uther’s Arthur- he was a traitor, a bloody _traitor._ He was manipulating the clan the _whole time,_ stringing them along and deploying their good intentions and pure hearts for a dark reason.

The whole druid clan had been instantly silenced. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Not even the trees moved with the agitated breeze. Everything seemed frozen, stuck in a mesh of betrayal, confusion and torment which tangled itself around the air. Merlin barely managed to turn his head away from Arthur, pushing against the heavy air slowly, hands shaking. Then everything got stuck like that. Arthur bit his lip, feeling the thickness of the oxygen passing into his lungs; it was cold, and congested his airways as opposed to helping him breathe. Slowly, he felt himself suffocated in the mesh, betrayal latching onto his throat intensely. Despite trying to move, _wanting_ to reach a hand out to Merlin, he found he could not. He was stood in a tabloid of his worst nightmare. He could see the frozen looks of grief on people’s faces, the confused expressions of the children, the _despair_ in all of those eyes.

Merlin violently broke the tabloid, spinning back around to face Arthur. As he did, everything suddenly _exploded._ The druids reacted, many breaking into panic and becoming flustered, or staring bleakly at the man they had trusted. Merlin pushed Arthur backwards forcefully, eyes glowing gold with vigour. The trees around rocked frantically; the wind scraped its sharp nails against the blonde’s face, hissing at him.

“You…you _KNEW_ this would happen _!”_ Merlin roared, voice deep and deadly. The clouds above dramatically darkened, booming in agreement.

Despite the meteorological warfare raging against him- even the _earth_ hated him - Arthur calmly replied. He was afraid if he met Merlin with a raised voice he’d lose his chance to make amends forever- although it already seemed too late for any reconciliation.

“I…knew this would happen.” He responded mechanically, droplets of rain spat in his face in revulsion. “From the very start. I admit my father made his intentions clear-”

A blinding flash of lightening tore through the skies.

“-No. How _could_ you?” The other man interjected, druids watching the scene latched onto his emotions, eyes dimming at the false hope they had foolishly believed. “I trusted you! You’re one of _them-_ “

At this accusation, Arthur’s motionless, robotic state became animated. The emotions bottled inside exploded through his veins. Panic flashed through his eyes. He couldn’t lose Merlin, he _couldn’t._ He lost _so much_ already. Reaching for Merlin, Arthur fought against the treacherous wind punching his gut. The rain pelted his face as he desperately grabbed Merlin’s shoulders.

“NoI’mnot,I’mnotI…” he whispered frenziedly, his voice raised in dynamic suddenly. “Everything changed. It _all_ changed when I met you and you taught me the ways of your people. I have grown to love and cherish everything the druids stand for and I-”

Tearing himself from Arthur’s grip, Merlin gritted his teeth, pacing backwards.

“NO.” Tears began to slip from his eyes. The wind stilled. The rain faltered. It seemed the powerful Emrys was not able to sustain such magic under emotional strain. _Emotional strain –_ Arthur had caused this.

“You knew all along.” Clasping a hand to his mouth, Merlin clamped his eyes shut, inhaling a huge amount of air to counteract the water-works which were about to erupt. The past six months, Arthur Pendragon had been lying. That was what _hurt_ so much, that he had been keeping this dark secret for _so long._ To think Merlin had fallen in _love_ with him. the downfall of his kind- it was traumatising. 

“ _I’m so sorry-”_ Arthur choked through his own fresh tears, knowing it wasn’t enough, an apology could _never be enough._

“-You bastard!” Another voice screamed, pushing through the crowds defiantly. Arthur knew who _that_ deadly voice belonged to before he could register their face. Defenceless, a beam of blue light hit him directly in the chest, hauling him sadistically into the tree trunk a few metres behind. Yelping at the collision, Arthur gazed up to see a _furious_ Will leaning over him, fist held in the air no doubt about to cause some damage to his face. Will was usually pissed off at him, but this was a whole new level. This was: I’m _actually_ going to kill you, rather than: I want to kill you, but I won’t.

“WILL!” Merlin tore his friend away in rage, the instinctive protection for Arthur suddenly taking over. Confused, the blonde watched Merlin _shield_ him from harm _._ This inane reflex immediately dispersed when Merlin saw the shocked look on his friend’s face.

“You _defend_ him, even now?” Will barked maliciously at Merlin in disgust, mutual concern spread through the clan. Without allowing Merlin a chance to respond or explain it was just instinct and _nothing more he swore_ , Will ran straight back to Arthur, pinning him against the tree viciously.

“Go on then!” Arthur yelled in the man’s face, tone drenched in loathing. Behind them, Merlin wiped his eyes aggressively. He didn’t want to cry over a Pendragon, a man who had cruelly lured him into this trap.

“Kill me, see what difference it’ll make. I’ve told you the truth.” Pause. He looked over Will’s shoulder to Merlin who met his eyes dejectedly. “You have to leave-“

“-We will _never leave!”_ Will slammed the blonde harder against the tree. The collision shook Arthur’s knees, causing them to buckle. Falling against the tree, he held back a groan. “This is our home, how _dare you_ and your people try and force us out-“

“-I am not the enemy.” Arthur hissed weakly. He reached behind, eyes clamped shut, to rub his back.

Turning his back on Arthur, Will faced the druid clan.

“He’s a _traitor._ He led them right to us!”

The outburst of agreement was heightened due to the mutual fear that there was trouble in their paradise. Any moment now Arthur was sure they were all going to leap onto the plateau and join Will in the attack. However, before there was any chance of this actually happening, a new face emerged from the crowd. He leant beside Arthur, offering him a dismal smile.

“Arthur is trying to protect you.”

Merlin spared a glance for Gwaine, a man who had become one of his closest friends in the past few months. Then the arrow of realisation shot him in the heart. The way Gwaine was _supporting_ Arthur, his _knowing look._

“…you. Don’t tell me you knew about this too.”

An outburst of raw sobs (“No…please, _don’t!_ ” ) came from the crowd – Gwen’s – as Lancelot left her side valiantly climbing up to nature’s stage boldly. Standing beside Gwaine and Arthur, who was leaning slightly against the former, Lancelot bowed his head grimly.

“We had our suspicions Merlin.”

Livid, Merlin shook his head in despair eyes flickering between the three men before him. _All of them knew about this!_ Yet not _one_ of them had done the _right thing,_ or tried to at least convince _Arthur Pendragon –_ the man with power – to amend his mistake. Fighting the growl of his magic, it was _angry, furious,_ the son of Balinor turned to his father who had not said a word. As leader of the clan, it was up to Balinor to make the final decision of their fate. He glanced over at his distraught son. Merlin felt hot tears prickle his skin – death seemed highly favourable by most of the druids at this moment in time. He could _hear_ their unusually unforgiving thoughts rattle his mind. Despite the peaceful nature of his people, the blinding _human_ emotions clouded their judgement. Casting his eyes towards the three men, Merlin wiped his eyes. _Death._ No. To watch his friends die, to watch Arthur _die –_ well it was _simple_ what would happen _._

Merlin would die too.

Not because he loved Arthur, because after the turmoil of emotions that had numbed is body, to grieve over someone who had managed to elucidate such a vast spectrum of feelings from him, see into his soul, _touch_ his heart- it would stop the faint pulse running through his system automatically. He couldn’t let them die, allow the druids to embrace their hatred. The druids were not a malevolent race; they needed a reminding of this before it was too late and everything escalated. Pleadingly, he dragged his watery eyes over to his unsympathetic father. _Let them live._ He thought, he _begged,_ knowing the druids and Arthur could hear. _Let them live Father._

Perplexity hit the blonde in the face, heart racing. He had just ripped Merlin’s soul apart, _destroyed_ every ounce of trust he had made and built with the people – and still, the only thing he could _think_ was to let the traitors live? Arthur prayed it was because Merlin forgave him. But he knew the true reason; he was doing it out of propriety, because killing in the name of emotions was not the druid way of doing things. Merlin had always been a moral person, even in the toughest of scenarios. He was Emrys after all. For _him_ of all figures to allow murder – it would spark chaos within the people.

Balinor’s orders defeated the silence.

“BIND THEM!”

No time was wasted. Instantly, druids rushed onto the plateau, viciously grabbing the arms, legs, heads of the traitors. There was no kindness about this. Magical chants were spat with rage; conjured chains enclosed around knees, wrists, and in Arthur’s case his neck. The metal had the sensation of a blizzard and then suddenly the sweltering heat of the desert. Then somehow, it was both. Skin flexed against the chains. Arthur slammed his eyes shut for a moment, to try and cast aside the pain searing through this body. Then, reluctantly, the pain was vocalised, his body thrashed against the chains.

Clutching Merlin by the arm, Gwenevere buried her head into his chest, tears leaking from her eyes. The pair of them stood back from the binding process, which resembled barbaric torturing. As he stroked her hair softly, Merlin acknowledged his own internal turbulence; a small shriek escaped his mouth. It sounded remotely different from any display of upset he had ever shown- it _scared_ Merlin. This raw anguish tearing through his body was new, _excruciating._

“You can’t stay here!” Arthur cried as the druids attached the chains to the wooden pillar. He was now suspended between the two fabricated pillars, Gwaine and Lancelot joining him. Holding his neck up with all his strength, to avoid gravity choking him against the metal, he continued.

“You can’t stay here and fight! They’re coming and they will _destroy you.”_

A loud thrumming from the horizon shook the landscape. An unfamiliar buzzing sound to the druid’s; it was a sound far too familiar for Arthur’s ears. Releasing Gwen, Merlin left he plateau, watching the sky. Hundreds- _thousands-_ of birds flew over their heads, in the opposite direction of the growing rumbling sound. They created a dark sheet of black over the sky. The ground beneath their feet trembled menacingly, travelling through their bodies. The whole area seemed to be drained of wildlife that fled, leaving nothing but the confused and curious druids.

“MERLIN!” Arthur roared, shaking against the magical binds.

Trying to ignore the call, Merlin continued to study his surroundings, and nature’s fear. More birds flocked over their heads; a dark omen for what was coming their way.

“Run. Merlin you _have to run!”_

Over the tree-tops ahead, the sound emerged louder. The trees wavered dangerously as if something was disturbing the wind, and twisting it to its own will. Swallowing-hard, Merlin outstretched his palm as he walked into the clearing. It seemed the rest of the clan had similar ideas. This place was sacred. _Nothing_ was going to stop them from protecting the Crystal Cave, or their home. How _dare_ the invaders believe that they had the audacity to assume they now had authority, that they had _the right_ to do something like this? No. There was _no way_ Camelot were going to just waltz in and take everything without a fight. Merlin summoned his bow and arrow impulsively, flinging it over his shoulders cautiously. The bow was a deep sapphire, with golden lines etched into the painted wood; the bows had sharp tips and a peculiar glow. It had been a _long_ time since he’d had to use his hand-made magical arrows. Placing magic into an inanimate object was difficult; giving it magical qualities was near impossible. Nonetheless, Merlin had mastered it and knew it would come to good use here.

“Prepare for attack.” Balinor called.

The druids aligned, some in the trees on their Wvyerns, others on the ground with weapons too primitive to stand a chance against Uther’s modern technology despite being enhanced with magic. Hundreds of terrifying, enormous flying beasts surged into vision, cutting through the forest in the distance. The buzzing seemed to emanate from the spinning vortex on top of the machines. Merlin – despite having seen some of this before – was frozen in fear at the sight of the looming evil. Even so, he courageously held his ground, encouraging the others to do the same. Balinor cast the first spell, a flashing purple haze created an invisible wall between the two opposing forces. Instantly, Merlin raised his hand with the others, desperate to support this barrier.

“Sir, it seems they’ve put up a magical barrier.” One of the men in a helicopter deduced, flicking up the cap on one of his dials.

Gazing down at the mass of druids, Uther noticed his son chained and bound. For a moment he said nothing, no orders were given. His eyes rested on the blonde man, struggling desperately against the chains that appeared to be made of magic. Then, mercilessly, he spoke through the microphone.

“Send out the gas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Drúte - Friend/trusted one


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FANMIX/MUSIC: 
> 
> TRACK 54 / (They came without warning - Epic Score, youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GO1xK8CX-Sw) followed by:
> 
> TRACK 55 / (Requiem K.626 Lacrimosa Dies Illa - Mozart, youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gt7X-22rD7s) 
> 
> Enjoy guys - the first music choice is one of the most awesome pieces of trailer-music I've ever heard. It really fits with the scene I think! It's just...TERRIFYING. 
> 
> PS- How good was 5x01?!

 

Through the sky, small silver capsules bounced against the magical barrier. They were unsuccessful in breaking through. With each hit there was hazy smoke and a shrill hissing sound; it distorted the vision of the druids, disorientated them. A few seconds into the attack, Arthur noted the druids were losing concentration and gaining bewilderment- the shield became weaker in result despite their efforts. The next silver capsule broke the barrier and landed at Will’s feet, exploding into a thick, black smoke. Coughing violently, he held a hand to his mouth, running backwards in repulsion. Other druids began to retreat too. Screams echoed across the plain, children racing towards an escape with their frantic parents. The rain of silver capsules continued as the vessels grew closer, beginning to pass through the barrier.

Merlin’s airways flooded with this venomous gas, triggering a distorted splutter. He hands remained raised, eyes fierce and glowing gold. The barrier was still holding back a good proportion of these strange weapons. He had to continue to hold the line, push them back. Balinor, unable to take the overpowering gas any longer stumbled backwards, hand pressed to his mouth. He cast his son an apologetic look; Merlin was too focused on holding his ground to fully take in what was happening. Hundreds of druids did the same. Some collapsed, falling into the long grass due to suffocation.

Watching his family deteriorate around him, Merlin let his defence slip for a moment. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at his surroundings, though that didn’t help him see through the warping fog-like mist. Everything was disorientating. Dark silhouettes were all that defined the frantic figures, and the only sounds distinguishable were cries and the shrieking of the capsules. His ears _burnt_ with the sound, beginning to ring piercingly.

Bringing his hands to his ears, he felt the last part of the barrier fade into oblivion, allowing the capsules to plummet down onto Ealdor. Merlin removed his hands from his throbbing ears, gazing around wildly. He couldn’t see _a thing._ Conjuring a blue orb of light, Merlin watched the gas tint in colour around him, giving a little more definition to his surroundings. It still wasn’t enough, and the capsules kept falling.

“Father?” he yelled. A fierce cough wrenched from his body. “ _Mother?!”_

The terrified cries of his people were too loud; it was _impossible_ to discern one voice from the other. Arthur felt his head sink against the metal, gas choking his lungs. Despite efforts to lift his head, he couldn’t any longer. Too many of the weapons had passed through the barrier, releasing the toxic gas. This was how it was going to end then, he assumed, death by suffocation. Never seeing another’s face before drifting into an endless sleep. Dying an _outcast,_ a traitor, with nowhere to belong.

The last of the capsules landed on the ground, decreasing visibility and strength. At that moment a figure plunged into Merlin’s side. Even from this proximity, it was hard to focus his bloodshot eyes. After a few seconds of strained vision, Merlin recognised the figure and tugged him back before he was lost amongst the smoke again.

“Will,” he whispered hoarsely. “We need to try and clear this air. We can’t….” Merlin abruptly stopped, spluttering violently. Will leant towards him in concern; Merlin pushed him away and continued. There were far more people at risk here than himself. “We can’t p-protect the people if we can’t see.”

The man beside him said nothing but instead limply raised his palm outwards. Eyes flashing gold, Merlin felt the anger, rage and jagged emotions mix with his magic. He was _Emrys._ He could clear this _easily;_ he just had to clear his mind and pretend the smoke wasn’t affecting his system. Anymore of this wavering, and his people would surely die. He could not allow Uther and his men to obliterate them through means of suffocation. They were going to _put up a fight_. Above the screams of the druids, his voice rose, summoning them into silence. His voice was low and powerful. Arthur opened his eyes weakly, watching in awe as the smoke vanished in a matter of seconds, dissipating from around Merlin.

The druids who hadn’t fled picked up their restored faith and stared triumphantly at their surroundings. Balinor reached for his son in relief, patting his shoulder in appraisal. The unspoken pride sent warmth through him that quickly fizzled away. Gazing up at the multitude of jet-black helicopters and military vessels, Merlin frowned. They were no doubt significantly outnumbered. His magic zoomed into the window where Uther Pendragon stood, fist clenched. Furiously, the man pointed a finger outwards towards the clan. It seemed his eyes were drawn to Merlin, _Emrys_. Yes, he _knew_ Merlin was Emrys. Perhaps he had resorted to trying to _kill_ Emrys rather than capture him now. The distance silenced the words. But Merlin sensed it was not good. This was definitely _not_ the end of the battle – it was the beginning. Their weapons were highly sophisticated. A bit of smoke was _nothing,_ Merlin had heard of the things they could do: _blow things up,_ explosions, terrible, unspeakable things that were all about to rain down upon-

“-No!” Arthur shrieked, watching the machines open their hatches and turn into lethal mechanisms that were not to be meddled with.

Larger metal capsules spewed endlessly from the human ships. When they landed, each one ignited spontaneously into flames. With each capsule’s detonation, the ground shook violently and pushed the druids to the floor. Scrambling to his feet, Merlin’s eyes widened in terror as he watched the flames begin to rise treacherously.  

Arthur’s eyes stung at the sight.

Uther had just opened fire on Ealdor, and they didn’t stand a chance.

**♦☼♦**

The missiles falling from the ships mercilessly obliterated the army of trees around Ealdor. They fell with a mighty groan. Wvyerns and their druid riders took to the skies in blind panic, flying out of combusting branches, helpless. Some were taken down with the mighty woodland guardians. Watching the towering trees surge towards the ground, Merlin’s protective gut instinct took control. Unsure of the whereabouts of his parents – which frightened him – he spoke through his mind and mouth simultaneously. The People couldn’t stay here, they would be _killed –_ these weapons were far beyond anything they had ever experienced before.

“ _Get out of here!”_

Several druids sped by his right, some still attempting to foolishly attack the landing missiles with their significantly inferior weapons. Many recoiled when they established this was no longer a battle – it was total, sheer dominance. Camelot gave no leeway for the druids to take control. Gwenevere dashed past Merlin’s left, two children attached to each of her arms. Their eyes were wide with shock, blood dripping from their clothes – silenced by complete and utter terror. It was a tragic sight. Running beside her, Merlin hoisted one of the children – who had become paralysed with fear – onto her back. He assumed they’d lost their parents in the smoke, or perhaps the explosions. Turning to the woman, Merlin gasped desperately for air that wasn’t full of smoke and dust.

“Gwen, if I don’t make it-”

A shrill scream echoed through the air, unnerving him.

“No, _no_ Merlin,” she panted whilst sprinting further.

Suddenly, set off course by a missile which collided mere feet from them, they were flung backwards ruthlessly against the ground. The drive of adrenaline pushed a shaking Gwen to her feet, but the children were immobile. A second aftershock from the missile’s force shoved her back to the ground. She allowed the quivers to pass through her body before attempting to stand again. Nails digging into the mud, Merlin’s gold eyes lifted the children upwards into Gwen’s trembling arms. Meeting his eyes, she watched him stand. But instead of facing her, he faced the destruction behind them. It wasn’t a mystery as to where Merlin was going- he was going _back_ into the hell and turmoil.

“You and Will, look after the people.”

Nodding obediently, Gwen squeezed the children’s hands, igniting a fierce newfound determination in them. She knew now was no time to try and talk or rationalise. The world around was burning, _deteriorating._ As Merlin looked over his shoulder, he watched the three fade against the smoke into shadows, hopefully out of harm’s way. He clasped his eyes shut for a moment. Then bravely he walked into the disarray.

Arthur shook his head in despair, watching as more trees tumbled down. He noticed one particularly large tree was set on a collision course with the raven-haired druid who was too busy looking out for others. From the missiles, not only came lethal fire, but the formidable smoke of natural flames too. The druids scattered like ants, all running to safety- although where safety was became less and less clear. Merlin noticed the dark shadow looming over him and gazed up to see a thick trunk - seconds from flattening him. A cry of a younger druid standing closer to the catastrophe sounded, alongside a frantic mother’s plea. Flashing gold, Merlin’s eyes focused on the tree. The ground shook as missiles continued to hit the forest and crumble into the ground, causing his control on the tree to waver for a moment.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried, watching the falling tree advance.

Running towards the druid child, Merlin scooped him up into his arms, keeping his magic firmly on the tree.

“Run!” he screeched to druids who were watching his heroic rescue in anxiety. Tossing the child into the arms of the mother, Merlin’s eyes widened.

He quickly cast another spell, pushing the pair forwards and out of the way of a large branch, which bombarded the scorched grass. He realised his mistake. The falling tree trunk above him landed with a thud and Merlin strategically rolled to his left, narrowly missing a fatal collision. A firm hand dragged him to his feet. Landing on his feet, adrenaline pumping, Merlin gazed into his best friend’s distant eyes weakly. Will and Gwen, they would _always_ be here, no matter what. It gave him a small ounce of hope. Nearby, he heard Arthur’s violent protests which shook him out of the trance.

“Please _stop this!”_

Facing Arthur, reality set in. _Panic._ Smoke was rising, fire was burning- they would… _die._ The druids couldn’t _leave_ them there; they would perish in the flames for certain. Arthur, Gwaine and Lancelot had once been their friends, people they could _trust._ Although it had been broken, it wasn’t completely worthless. Surely that was… _enough._ Turning his head with great effort, the blonde stared bleakly at Merlin. Surprise and alarm pelted him in the face.  The _idiot-_ why wasn’t he running like everybody else? Arthur watched Will tug Merlin backwards- at least _someone_ had sense. However, it seemed Merlin wasn’t listening.

“Come _on_ let’s get out of here.” Will ordered, attempting to pull Merlin’s unresponsive body with him.

The raven-haired man’s eyes snapped with fear. He remained immobile for a few seconds. Animatedly, he suddenly broke into rapid movement.

“ _Wait-”_

“- _Merlin!”_ Will cried out in exasperation, cautiously looking around their battered surroundings.

“It’s _Arthur-”_ he raced towards Arthur loyally.

Merlin ducked his head from being hit by a flying metallic weapon. The missile narrowly missed, throwing Merlin viciously to the ground with its powerful tremors. Wasting no time, Merlin brushed off the pain, casting it aside for a moment. Fiercely he leapt onto his feet and continued his course. Arthur observed the scene in horror: Merlin was risking his life to come back _for him._ The traitor, the one who had _destroyed him._ It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right _at all._ Squirming against the grip of the chains, he groaned.

“For god’s sake Merlin _go-“_

Their eyes met. 

“-No I…” Standing immobile, he gazed at the three men chained and hanging on the wood that lit dimly against the embers in the air. He was lost for words, unsure _what_ the hell he was doing, or what his broken heart was supposed to feel.

In shock at Merlin’s behaviour towards the traitors, William yet again – this time more aggressively – latched onto his friend. Why couldn’t Merlin _see?_ He was always the martyr, always _too_ forgiving. Shaking him by the shoulders, Will narrowed his eyes.

“Merlin, listen to me. He’s the one who betrayed us all. He’s been working for his father the _whole time_. He lied to us.” The surge of agony Merlin had tried to _magic away_ crashed against his skin. Will’s words reminded him of Arthur’s own. “He lied to _you._ The Arthur you thought you knew doesn’t exist.”

Despite the pain Will’s words caused Arthur, reminding him of his own treachery seemed to only way to save them.

“-I brought them here.” Arthur interjected. Gwaine shot Arthur a dark look, too weak to actually protest against the _stupidity_ he was witnessing. Arthur was _deliberately_ forcing Merlin away from him. “For six months I _knew_ all about this day. All of this is my fault. I am to blame. I abused _your_ trust-“

“-he _used you-“_ Will added.

Slamming his eyes shut, Merlin released a cry of grievance. All of this, he knew to be true. _What_ was he doing? Arthur _was_ to blame. He _had_ used him. He had carelessly befriended him, seduced him – all for the means of his father. Red and purple flared against his eyelids, accompanied by the sounds of war- no- _attack_. This was no fair fight; it was a massacre. Falling out of Will’s grasp, Merlin opened his eyes – and ran without looking back.  

From above, the druids looked hardly intimidating. They resembled little specs scurrying around the fire; the missiles had scalped the earth. The skeletons of trees were imprinted on the charred soil. The only place that remained untouched, but oh- _so close_ in reach – was the Crystal Cave. Sitting on the edge of the annihilation was that vast stretch of rocky tunnels and glistening crystals. Beneath this, enough oil to save the world beyond Albion. But inside, was something far more valuable: the key to the druid’s culture, their very _essence._

From the screens back at Camelot base, some soldiers held their hands to their open mouths in shock; others felt their lips twitch upwards into a victorious smirk. One, held in the grip of two strong men, was belligerently voicing her grief.

“No!” She roared, watching the devastation unfolding through teary eyes.

“They have to _stop-_ please, _Valiant_ where’s your humanity?!”

The man watching the screen in front of her did not turn to face Morgana. He did not even acknowledge her words.

“This is a sacred land! It is part of the _druids._ It is holy.”

From the plain of demolition, a woman outstretched her hands to the three traitors. Instantly, the chains unbuckled, casting the three men to the floor. Smoothing a hand over Arthur’s shoulder, the woman sobbed. Arthur held onto Hunith gently, staring dismally around the wreckage that had once been a beautiful settlement.

“ _Please,_ if you are one of us Arthur, _help us.”_ Gazing into the eyes of the woman, Arthur wrapped his hand around hers, expressionless. The guilt bottling inside of him was _too much_ to handle. He wanted to tell her it would be okay, console the woman who had _helped him._ He found he could not. There were no comforting words he could offer, only meek condolences.

“Hunith,” he struggled to get the words out. “We’re too late.”

A thunderous roar ripped through the skies, drawing the attention of everybody. Arthur gritted is teeth, staring up into the dark expanse of machines. The fleeing druids came to a standstill, watching as the attention of the fire and artillery changed its focus. Merlin spun around from his retreat. Once again the ground beneath their feet vehemently trembled. The earth itself rumbled, and a crackling resonated through the sky. Without warning, the plain across Ealdor began to divide, earth tumbling into the expanding wound. Some people fell into the dark expanse, unable to outrun the crack. Druids scrambled to their feet, recklessly sprinting towards the Crystal Cave, their last place of refuge from this hell. But Merlin seemed to be among a few who had figured out the next plan. Frenetically, he leapt in front of the frightened druids; he had to steer them elsewhere.

“NO!” he yelled, viciously heaving bodies away from the Crystal Cave with forceful shoves.

The crack behind was growing, swallowing a handful of druids who thought they could jump across it. Merlin blinked back tears at the sight.

And then it happened.

The event that was about to devastate the druid world.

The event that was about to change everything.

Arthur gazed over to Gwaine and Lancelot, who refrained from running. Exchanging alarmed looks, the three of them could only watch, utterly powerless. Time seemed to slow when the first missile was fired into the air. All eyes, even the soldiers of Uther, followed the pathway of the single missile. It pierced through the air, over the tearing earth, past the fallen trees. Merlin foreshadowed the consuming grief of his people; the overwhelming notion of what was about to happen pummelling his soul. Heads moved with the motion of the missile, eyes expanded, mouths fell open. Some tried to convince themselves that this wasn’t happening by chanting wildly in the druid tongue, others had already burst into despairing weeps.

Then for a moment, there was silence; nothing.

Next came an ear-splitting crunch.

It was the sound of every single druid’s heart, every _soul,_ collapsing into oblivion.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have linked the listening into the chapter, it will open in a separate window and play whilst you read :) it just seems easier if you don't have the fanmix. 
> 
> YOU MUST LISTEN TO THE FIRST TRACK (linked in "It's all gone" or here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HK-t9-Lzvxg) - IT'S SO, SO IMPORTANT TO THIS SCENE. 
> 
> I have to admit. I have cried many times writing this bloody scene, I hope I can get some emotional response from you too.
> 
> ...

The first missile crashed into the Crystal Cave with force. Shards of crystals flew chaotically into the air. Swiftly the strong foundations came tumbling downwards. And then it all became apocalyptic and impossibly devastating because the sky was _full_ of artillery. Each missile pounded the Cave vigorously.

“No!” Merlin shrieked, running hysterically towards the massacre of their home, their beliefs…of _Albion_.

It was not just the druids here that would feel each and every attack, and the anguish it caused. This would be felt across the entire land, every single druid would fall onto their knees and crumple to the ground. Gwenevere and Will each bravely tugged the livid Merlin back, trying to keep hold of him. An explosion of flames spewed through the sky like a sadistic firework display. The remnants of his heart thumped against his chest, and Merlin saw _red._ With a flick of his magic, eyes dark, he freed himself from their embrace. Arthur watched the sight in fear. Merlin was headed straight towards the destruction.

“No!” Merlin took both palms and held them to the sky, firing blinding orbs of white towards the missiles.

He was at the mouth of the cave, consumed in smoke and rattled by the tremors, using all his might to push back as many missiles as he could. But he was too late. Not even _Emrys_ could prevent this with his power. His body shook violently against the quivering earth. Behind him the mouth of the cave capsized, choking out dust. Missiles continued to batter the rocks, which were obliterated into jagged tiny pieces. It all became lethal and sinister. He could already feel small stones slashing against his skin, trying to burrow him. Merlin had no choice other than to run from the calamity, abandon the sacred place of Albion for his own life. Emrys was no use dead. But he also was no use if he couldn’t even _save_ everything. His body seared with pain, magical energy grinding his bones, churning his insides in misery from the damage. Retreating, he pushed his weakening body away from the raging inferno of ash, and rubble behind him. The collision of the crystals and rocks smashing into small fragments was thunderous and disturbed his balance. Merlin failed to wince at the sharp sting as he fell to the ground, hauling his body up with belligerent and stupidly _blind_ hope.

Maybe they could fix the cave. He- he could turn back time if he tried hard enough maybe, or perhaps somehow they could rebuild it-r _-right-_ a raw scream was torn from his sore throat as he watched the scene unfold. Helpless. The mighty Emrys was helpless.

Then – the final strike hit mercilessly.

Druids that were running in fear immediately stopped in their tracks, faces scarred with intense turmoil. A cataclysmic collision finalised the collapse. Any remnant of the mighty structure had been shattered into miniscule shards. Where once a beacon of faith and wonder stood, where an ancient cave that held the very _origins of magic_ was a towering pile of rubble. A dull cloud of dust swirled ominously around the sight, shimmering particles of crystals twinkled against the fires assaulting the land around. No.

[It was all gone](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HK-t9-Lzvxg).

Without a second’s hesitation, Uther’s helicopters and vessels backed away, their humming faded into the distance against the horrific silence that plagued the ruins of Ealdor. This humming would haunt Merlin for life. For what they had done, the catastrophic damage they had inflicted upon an innocent earth- what they _did-_ Merlin felt the turmoil rise in his chest.

Arthur opened his eyes slowly, dreading to see what his father had left of Ealdor. The air was thick with dust and smoke, silhouettes of druids was all he could define with his hazy vision. Nausea overpowered his system, wrenching an uncontrollable groan of shock from his lips. It was all gone. Ealdor, the crystal cave… _nothing_ was left. Stumbling forwards bleakly, he watched around as druids writhed and thrashed on the ground helplessly. Abruptly, the magic coursing through his veins also reacted pugnaciously. Falling to his knees, tears fell from his eyes. It was all gone. A beautiful settlement of the most wonderful people he had ever met- reduced to savage annihilation. Suddenly, he could feel everything, _everyone._ Every heart that had been ripped out of its chest toppled chaotically onto his own, creating an unsteady, rapid pacing that vanquished his senses. Then the wave of sobbing druids from miles away hurdled ruthlessly over his skin. Next came the aftershock of the earth’s cries, the trees’ distraught amplified in his very mind as they mourned their neighbouring forest; every scar inflicted upon the land dug sharply into his body, cutting up his insides. Curling into himself feebly, attempting to block out the sensory overload, Arthur unwillingly began to crumble. There was the grief for the comatose bodies of those killed or missing. The sense of unparalleled fear in the children; the shock from druids all over Albion.

But most of all he could feel the colossal void inside his own body. It started small, hidden behind the mass of this extensive injury. Then it began to swell, pushing everything else forwards callously until Arthur thought he couldn’t _feel_ anymore. It was all gone. The colossal void detonated into an expanse of unbearable desolation, _isolation_. The tingling of his magic intensified to an excruciating prickling sensation. His magic was weeping. The whole druid _world_ was weeping- and for a few moments he could feel _everything_.

Now he felt nothing.

It was all gone.

Burying his fists into the mud, Merlin fell to the ground silently beside the lingering flames. He could hear nothing, _see_ nothing. But _god –_ could he feel. His magic was still hammering about his body wildly. Disbelief attacked his system, disbelief that anything like this could ever happen. But it had happened. Then a terrifying understanding that the Crystal Cave was gone. It was gone. Then fear, fear for his people, for his parents, for his friends. A rush of _everything_ crashed over him, relentless silent cries shook his body. It was all gone. Sound made its way back to him, screams and cries of the people trickling through into his ears. His vision, blurry and disorientated, began to recognise shapes and differentiate colours.

Hell.

Their sanctuary had turned into hell, a dark paradise that had been stripped of its crux.

Aware of his instability, Merlin lifted his head to try and establish his surroundings. It was a scene of panic. Everyone was lost. Emrys was gone; any trace of power and hope inside of him had vanished. Because it was _all gone._ All destroyed by Uther- _Arthur._ Clamping his eyes shut viciously, Merlin threw his head back to the ground feebly. Just that name abolished everything inside; it was the route of all of this, the instigator. That _name._ Oh that name had so recently meant the _world_ to him, given him more life and optimism than ever before. That name had swallowed the world, bathed in the suffering of his people. That name was no longer a name in his own mind; it was the embodiment of betrayal never to be spoken of again, a word representing a figure he placed too must trust and loyalty into. That name became a word that had obliterated destiny, love…taken everything. All gone.

It’s all gone.

[ _Merlin._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4dBKrhF-9c)

The voice gave him hope instantly, and it took all his strength to simply respond and cut through the inner chaos.

_Father! Where are you?_

No response. Flustered, Merlin tried to get onto his knees. The bruising of his skin, the internal weeping was too much. Yet still he continued to lift himself up. His feet were too numb to walk on. He crashed back onto the ground hopelessly. The cries of his people had begun to subside into silence; the grief was too immense for the body to handle. Wiping a hand over his face slowly, Merlin swallowed a torrent of sobs about to slip over him. He had to find his father. His father would know what to do, how to lead the people out of this calamity. Crawling through the wreckage, past limp bodies and burning branches, Merlin inhaled a raspy breath.

“Father!” his voice echoed around the plain.

Many of the druids had dispersed, following Gwen and Will no doubt. It was too much to even be here, it _hurt._ In this moment Merlin prayed for those he had not seen whilst the shelling took place: his mother, Gwaine, Lancelot. But not Arthur; not the _name._ His lips curled up with a dark loathing. He could have stopped this. All the evidence suggested that he _wanted_ this to happen. He was just like his father with a heart as black as the blackest nightfall. Pushing the resentment away, Merlin spotted a fallen tree ahead, scorched from fire. It was what he saw under the tree that struck him. Fiercely dragging his throbbing body towards the tree, he cried out, voice husky.

“Father!”

_Merlin._

Reaching the figure pinned beneath the tree, Merlin felt tears spill from his eyes. _No. No._ Crouching over Balinor, he cradled the head in his arms. The reality of the situation was that the tree that had crushed his lower body. His arms hung motionless beside his upper body, possibly paralysed. Merlin guessed it wouldn’t be long before his father was unable to speak.

“Father, come on.” He whispered, nudging the head lightly, fearful of causing any more damage to the bloodied man.

Glassy eyes, unfocused, gazed in the direction of Merlin, but were incapable of finding his eyes directly. That was enough to break the young druid.

“It’s…it’s up to _you_ now.” Balinor uttered faintly.

Swallowing-hard, Merlin brushed the tears from his face. _No._ He couldn’t lose his father. Not after _all of this_. He didn’t think he could _hurt_ anymore, everything was _gone._

“Don’t say that! You’re fine.” he wasn’t fine. “I’ll get you out-“

Lifting a palm towards the fallen, rotten tree, Merlin bit his lip. He knew, despite efforts to fool himself, it was an impossible task. Admitting it would mean accepting more desolation, more _pain._ Mouth trembling, Balinor’s words became a little muffled.

“-Merlin.” Gazing back to his father, willing to do _anything,_ Merlin stroked his hair soothingly. “I’m dying.”

He’s _dying._ He’s _dying._

 _No._ Unable to speak, too frenzied, Merlin shook his head. _You’re not dying. I will save you._

Save him.

A flicker of gold fell from his palm and pathetically evaporated. Emotionally compromised, physically exhausted, his magic – as expected – was still inconsolable over the Crystal Cave. He could hear it whimpering inside. That didn’t stop him from trying again. It refused to move. And again. It did nothing.

“It’s no good Merlin…”

No good. No good. He’s _dying._ Save him.

Save him.

Lowering the head to the ground, Merlin clutched Balinor’s chest intensely.

“I’m _EMRYS_. If I can’t save you then what is my power for?!” his words cracked, the hoarse voice jumping between octaves.

Emrys, save him. Save him Emrys.

“You are d-destined.” Large inhale of breath. “for g-greatness Merlin. You always have been. I believe in you.”

Merlin didn’t want fucking _belief._ He wanted his father safe and sound. Panic of reality surged around him. His father was dying; his father was about to die. The Crystal cave was gone. Ealdor was gone. It was _all gone._ He delicately pressed his lips to Balinor’s forehead.

_Father._

He felt the pulse dim, the heavy frantic breathing faltered.

_FATHER. Father!_

An uncontrollable rocking swept through Merlin’s body, as he attempted to shake his father free from the tree, praying he could bring the man back to life. But he was gone. It was _all gone._ Merlin had lost _everything_ in a matter of minutes. Shivering, he embraced his father. With one gentle gesture, he shut the man’s transparent eyes. The earth around lamented for this loss. The sky cried, its tears caressing Merlin’s face; the remaining trees swayed sorrowfully side to side. Slowly, the fires began to wither from the touch of water, leaving black charcoal wounds in the ground. The soil thickened, becoming grime. Bringing a muddy hand to his face, Merlin cupped his mouth, insatiable weeping sprouted from his mouth.

A figure gazed upon this sight, throat swollen. Taking a step forwards, the two men beside him warily shook their heads.

[“ _Don’t.”_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWxMFRVlpBc) One murmured drearily, too weak and distraught from the recent events to act upon his words and commit to grabbing the man.

The figure ignored him. Crouching down beside Merlin, he pressed a firm, consoling hand on his shoulder. Although it’s _intent_ was consolation, the contact singed the druid’s skin.

“Merlin, it’s not safe. You must go.”

Too fragile to push the hand away, but knowing exactly who it was, Merlin curled up closer to his father’s immobile body. It was so unfair. He didn’t deserve to die this way; he was a noble, powerful leader. _No, no no. Father._ The name, _the name._ It was here, it was _touching him,_ trying to offer him peace and- no. A dark furnace seethed.

“Get away!” the voice barely resembled his own anymore, it was uneven and volatile. “Get...” His throat was clogged with an agonising ache, tears streaming down his face. Painfully, he dislodged the trapped words with an overwhelming sob. “Get. Away.” Gritting his teeth, Merlin clenched his fists tightly in his father’s shirt.

The hand didn’t leave. The figure was still here. The name, that stupid _name._

“Get. Away.” He repeated, each word spat out forcefully, through ragged breaths. “ _Never._ Come. Back.”

A few moments passed; he continued his grieving. The figure removed their hand. Merlin was too engrossed in death and unrest to notice. It was all gone.

“-Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes flashed open; he viciously turned to face the intruder, the only person who had lacked enough humanity to drag Albion into a state of disrepair and sorrow- the only person who wouldn’t let him lament his own _father_ in peace _-_

“-LEAVE ME ALONE. YOU’VE DONE ENOUGH.”  Not even looking the figure in the eyes, Merlin hissed ominously. _“YOU.._.I, EMRYS, BANISH YOU FROM THIS LAND.” 

Without bothering to check if the figure had anything to say, Merlin continued, voice too frail to continue shouting.

“If you _ever_ come near my people again,” His eyes darkened dangerously. “I _will_ kill you.”

 _Kill –_ the word slipped off his tongue before he could process it. Would he _really_ stoop down to the same level as _their kind?_ The figure blinked slowly, and turned his back on a motionless Merlin, stewing it over in his mind. The incredulity of ever doing such a thing vanished. 

Because once a Pendragon, _always_ a Pendragon.

Arthur stumbled dizzily into Gwaine’s arms, not managing to support himself any longer.

Reluctantly, he consented to the black abyss enclosing around him. When darkness enshrouded his entirety, flashing imprints of the Crystal Cave’s ruins ignited. The onslaught frozen in frame, fading in and out of focus, flickering. A figure stood unscathed amidst this all, in a smart business suit, Camelot Enterprise plastered across the front pocket.

For a split second he thought it was Uther.

Then, as the picture faded and left him in a bewildering obscurity, he realised it wasn’t Uther at all.

It was himself.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually use present tense, or switch between tenses in a story.
> 
> But the next two chapters are kind of a crucial 'landmark' and having them in present-tense is far more effective than in past. I tried both - present won.
> 
> Enjoy this one - this is MY FAVOURITE chapter so far, mainly because I had a lot of fun writing Arthur's character here.

Merlin is broken.

But it’s worse than that. _Emrys_ is broken. He walks with a defeated stance, eyes misted over with a poignant vacancy as he leads his tired, despondent people through the endless terrain of empty, decaying woodland. Once upon a time within those eyes was a fierce Hope, a blinding Faith, a quest to free Peace from its shackles. Those eyes were once a beacon, _he_ was once a beacon. Just his name, his very name could set the whole of Albion alight with a newfound force, spark a perilous resistance. But names were dangerous, and there was one name that had tainted the world forever, demolished ruthlessly any trace of power Emrys supposedly had. There was one name that echoed amongst the silent forests, the weeping druids, the despairing earth. This one name had broken Ealdor, broken Albion, broken the very essence of _magic._

Emotions start to flee in panic and dejection. He watches this unfold miserably, confusion the only sane emotion left to cling onto as the others floundered at Fate‘s command. Deception pushes Trust over the edge when it isn‘t looking, you hear its scream. And Love, _of course Love_ jumps to its own death. Love is always so self-sacrificial, playing the martyr even when it is the root of all this _pain inside him._ But three far more key elements quickly deteriorate in front of his eyes. It is these three elements that hold the fate of the people: Hope, Faith, Peace. Merlin can’t find them anywhere. Then again he’s not _really_ looking.

As he walks, their whereabouts slowly unfold. Hope is nothing but a distant mirage on the endless horizon; it’s never close enough to touch, always out of reach. Faith is dangling from a noose in front of his very eyes, and Peace is shattered into a thousand shards, crackling under his bleeding feet.

It’s all quiet in Albion now.

The birds have left, flocked elsewhere knowingly. The creatures that roam the forest have hidden away, some _willingly_ giving their lives. Their corpses stain the browned grass, rotting in the arid soil, once rich with minerals and sacred magic. For what is there to life for, if Magic itself is dying? What is there to live for knowing that this demonstration of reckless power is not the end, but the beginning? That name never rests, it will never rest. There is more to come -and there is worse to come.

His father, Balinor, He would have known what to do, what to say to the people. He could have lifted the people’s spirits back up, or reassured them _somehow_. But the name, the name took him away. The name destroyed everything. His mother is nothing but a pallid statue now, a shadow of her former self. She has not spoken for many days, her lips are cracked with dried blood, her wide, bloodshot eyes forever spilling tears. The children don’t speak. Merlin fears many have forgotten how to, traumatised at the loss of something so enormous – and in many cases their parents - to do anything but walk compliantly. Will does not speak. He walks beside Merlin impassively. However, to think that is a gesture of loyalty would be foolish. This is now a broken world full of broken people. Friendships, no matter how strong, are dangling on a fine string, thin enough to snap at any given moment. People start to place blame, start to throw accusations at each other through their eyes. The majority of these are hurtled at Merlin. Merlin isn’t surprised, or hurt by it. It’s his fault after all. He trusted the name, he let the name into Ealdor.

Gwenevere is hauntingly silent too.

She likes to pretend that Merlin is leading them somewhere safe, somewhere they can find a new Peace. The truth is that they haven’t stopped walking since the event, not even to satisfy the thirst and hunger of their weak bodies. Merlin just thinks that she’s stupid, to have such _blinding_ belief in him after everything. He doesn’t tell her that though. Nobody has spoken since the event. If he could speak, form some words on his tongue, he would tell Gwen she should just accept the truth out loud. She should put herself out of her misery, or rather, plunge herself into it. After all, everyone else has. Some druids have already left, refusing to follow Merlin, _Emrys._ There was no greater indication of failure than this, to condemn the savoir of the people, of Albion. A ruined savoir, a lost symbol.

And the ones who stayed, they weren’t exactly following because they wanted to.

They follow because there is safety in numbers and…well, where else _is_ there to go? Nowhere. Albion is falling, Albion _has_ fallen, to the hands of the name. The name is spreading, the name is going to destroy _everything_. Magic is dying. Her soul is withering away. Without magic, there is nothing. Without magic there is nowhere. Life is not worth living. Some people start to realise this, and slip off into the depths of the forest. It is no secret as to what they are doing. Many believe it is better to die by your own hand, than by the name. Merlin hears their final thoughts, _feels_ their final breaths, their final heartbeat. Each time it happens, he cries again. Only it’s so much worse than anyone could imagine because it’s _his fault_ this has happened, and the very notion plummets him into the darkest abyss of nothingness.

Yet he keeps walking, _aimlessly._

They keep following, aimlessly.

The smoke is still rising from Ealdor. Merlin can’t stop himself from looking back at the remnants of his once magnificent home as they venture up the slope. It’s all black; the earth is slashed open, bleeding out its pain. It’s all quiet. It’s all gone. Everything is _gone._ Merlin can feel it, it’s seeping from his skin, _crying_ and _begging_ not to go. It’s not its time to go, it doesn’t want _to die._ It _can’t die._ It created all of this, this world, this _beautiful,_ perfect world. It created this civilisation, it fought for it, it _protected it._ It failed. It wants to make amends. But the wreckage left behind in its name, in _that name,_ is too much. Too much has been lost. Those vacant, cold eyes study the pillars of smoke on the endless horizon. They continue to rise dramatically, smearing against the darkening sky. He turns away.

The image singes itself into his mind, never once leaving the foreground.

He keeps walking, aimlessly.

They follow, aimlessly.

Then smoke starts to rise in other places too.

It breaks Merlin again.

And again.

**♦☼♦**

“Uther’s going to destroy all of Albion if we don’t stop him.” Gwaine mutters under his breath, gazing up despondently at the pillars of smoke rising in the distance.

From beside him Lancelot sighs and hums in agreement, shock still overpowering his system. The events of the past few days were traumatic, _horrific._ People had died before their eyes, a whole settlement blown to smithereens callously. It was difficult to be in the middle of both parties; exiled from one, disgusted with the other. They were in no-man’s land, helpless observers in this unfair war. Gwaine catches the solemn look in Lancelot’s eyes, and wonders why the hell Arthur won’t man up and deliver one of his morale-boosting speeches. He’d always been good at them. Arthur was the key to this resistance.

For a moment he thinks Arthur didn’t hear him, and he clears his throat to try and make some sort of _contact_ with the silent statue. Arthur is sat underneath a small tree at the edge of the clearing, not too far from the pair. His eyes are lost and hazy. He rarely speaks; he rarely does _anything._ And when he does do _something_ it’s out of character. His behaviour odd; unsettling. He is like a tormented, raving lunatic; driven crazy by trauma and internal grief. It took hours to convince him to move from the ruins of Ealdor. Even now, they’re not situated far from them. The smell of ash and charred wood is still strong, a foreboding reminder of the ferocity that is Camelot Enterprise.

Lifting his head slowly, Arthur allows a bitter smile to spread over his face, revealing that _he did_ in fact hear Gwaine’s words. That silver pendant is still weaved around his right hand, the symbol dangling from his hands. He’s spent all day staring at it, as if he hoped it would start talking and tell him what the fuck to do. Gwaine could have sworn earlier he’d heard Arthur _muttering_ to it.

“We can’t stop them.” His tone is infested with pessimism.

Gwaine only has to take one more look at the smoke in the sky to turn towards Arthur with ferocity of his own. He doesn’t care that Arthur it broken, _everyone is broken._ But there’s still time, there’s still time to fix all of this, to piece people, a _nation,_ back together again. No matter how dismal the chance is, Gwaine seizes it in his hands and holds it out to Arthur pleadingly.

“How can _you_ of all people say that?”

Arthur averts his eyes back to the necklace in his palm. Surprisingly, it doesn’t speak and tell him what the fuck to do. It just dangles there silently against his hands. It’s just an object after all, a memory of his mother. A contort makes its way across his handsome face. It’s the first sign of normalcy in days.

“I caused this. I did this.”

Kneeling beside Arthur, the tanned male frowns sympathetically. He places a hand on his knee, Arthur rolls away from the touch frantically, a _whimper_ of all things leaving his lips. And that’s enough for Gwaine to feel his own heart breaking, just a little.

“You cannot change what has passed-“

Gwaine detects the sympathy in Lancelot’s voice and scoffs, rudely he interrupts his colleague. There’s no point dwelling in the past anymore.

“-But you _can_ change the future, we can.”

It takes no longer than a few seconds for Arthur to morph back to this strange echo of a person, personality faded, skin paled. He throws his head back against the tree’s slender body, and a chuckle escapes his lips. By the time his friends identify that sound, he breaks into insatiable, erratic laughter. It erupts loudly from his chest, resonating through their small clearing. The laughter doesn’t die out, it continues. Arthur doesn’t even know why this is all so funny. But it is. _It’s hilarious_. It becomes too much of an insult for Gwaine, and he takes a step forwards venomously.

“Stop laughing Arthur. This isn’t funny.”

Barking out a final laugh, the young Pendragon grinned frenziedly at the rugged male. There was a glint in his eyes, bordering insanity and instability. Realisation pelts his face. Yes. It _was_ funny. This was all so _funny!_ The hopeless Hope Gwaine had, the way he had personally screwed up _everything_ despite knowing this was going to happen in hindsight anyway, the fact that his father was now some kind of warlord. It’s as if they were in some kind of epic movie. He knew what was coming next, he was supposed to suddenly find newfound hope and lead a resistance. Like a hero. That made him laugh again.

“Yes,” he has to cut his own words off, succumbing to the cloud of bitter laughs surrounding him. “ _Yes it is!_ You think we have a _chance_ against my father.”

Gwaine grits his teeth, confirming Arthur’s suspicions. The blonde raises a hand almost drunkenly towards him, a repulsive beam snaking over his face.

“We’re outcasts….we have _no purpose-“_

Gwaine steps close enough to cast an overbearing shadow over Arthur. The shadow is still nothing in comparison to the one cast by his father.

“-Don’t you _dare_ just cast Hope away like that. There are hundreds of people in Albion who would give _anything_ to feel it again.”

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur shrugs casually. He strokes two fingers over the Merlin bird necklace in his palm before shooting Gwaine an apathetic glance. He doesn’t know why the fuck Gwaine’s angry with _him_ about Hope. It’s not _his_ fault it wandered off without stating when it was returning, or if it even _was_ returning. If people were so worried about losing it, they should have tied a leash on it or something. He resists the urge to laugh at his own twisted thoughts.

“Well,” he begins, an aberrant smile on his face. “They can have it. I don’t _want_ it.”

It takes a _hell_ of a lot of self-control, and Lancelot’s strong vice grip on his arm, to stop Gwaine from diving towards Arthur and punching him square in the face. Instead, he ejects venom from his eyes, snarling his lip upwards.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

This merely sends Arthur into another fit of frantic laughter. Releasing himself from Lancelot’s firm grip, Gwaine picks up the sword on the ground, holding it out challengingly towards Arthur. Still laughing, Arthur’s eyes darken, _amused_ by his friend’s actions. Lancelot casts a dejected glance over to Gwaine, because this isn’t the Arthur they knew or loved.

“I’m not going to fight you.” He hisses, tongue clinging to the vowels, making him sound a little ludicrous.

“Of course you’re not.” Gwaine spits on the ground, gripping the weapon tighter in his hands. “You’re not going to fight for anyone. You _always_ did nothing! You _always_ stood by and let him rule your life, destroy other lives.” Plunging the sword into the red soil, Gwaine narrowed his eyes. “What is it going to take for you to stand up to him once and for all, after _everything_ he’s done? How many people are you going to let die before you stop being a selfish brat and fight back-“

“- _Gwaine.”_ Lancelot hissed, establishing that he might have overstepped a line. The man beside him shot the tanned male a glare, continuing ruthlessly. Arthur showed no signs of anger. In fact, he seemed to be rather detached from the whole thing, grinning occasionally.

“You need to take responsibility for your actions Arthur Pendragon. You started this mess, you clean this shit up.”

 And for a moment Arthur is _silent,_ staring seriously up at Gwaine. It’s in this moment that Gwaine thinks he’s _finally_ gotten through to the real Arthur, buried away inside this monster on the exterior. However, it seems his efforts are all in vain, because Arthur starts _laughing_ again, louder than before. Exasperated and _disappointed_ in a man he once looked up to, Gwaine stumbles away from the hysterical blonde, picking up the supplies on the ground.

“Where are we going?” Lancelot asks, for the first time voicing where his loyalties lay. _Of course,_ he’d fight for justice, for a noble cause. This didn’t surprise Arthur Pendragon one bit. He lifts his head, watching the pair in front of him, ready to go, _leave him._

“We’re going to find people who _will_ fight for justice.” Gwaine replies, shooting the broken Arthur a look of disdain. Guffawing at these words, Arthur smirks bleakly.

“I’m not going with you. Go off on a _wild goose chase,_ you’ll only get caught by my father’s men-“

“-Don’t think for _one second_ that I won’t leave you and your spoilt ass here.” Gwaine snaps back in avid fury, pointing a finger in his direction. “After everything you did to Ealdor, to _Merlin-“_

That word, that _name…_ the name nobody has dared voice since the destruction of Ealdor and the Crystal Cave. That name sparks a resilient agility in Arthur. He rose to his feet instantly, picking up the sword in the soil, eye smouldering.

“Watch your tongue.” He says, voice low, walking towards Gwaine.

It’s _Gwaine’s_ turn to laugh now, because since when had Arthur been such a fucking hypocrite – so much like his father? 

“Oh I’m sorry.” He begins, blinking petulantly at the blonde man in front of him. “I forgot Merlin meant so much to you. I wonder how I could ever forget… _oh yeah,_ because you _used him-“_

“-I’m warning you!” Arthur growls, lunging forwards savagely, newfound fire burnishing in his eyes.

And Gwaine knows, deep in his heart, that _this is the start of it all_. He realises this the moment he spoke that _name._ That name has sparked the fiery resistance, the _raw rage_ inside which will consume him, _obliterate_ his wrongs. By mentioning that name, Arthur has already flung himself into action, looking more like his past self. It’s set in motion the chain of events which _will_ bring Arthur Pendragon to Camelot, will push him towards the light. Swinging the sword around helplessly, Arthur suddenly finds everything _funny_ again and starts laughing. Gwaine grimaces.

 _That name_ may have instigated _something_ inside of Arthur, but it’s it too early to tell. He’s still a shell of a man, a broken man. It’s just begun, it’s early days. This, Gwaine knows, is something Arthur must face alone. Chuckling, with a sincerity that deeply confuses Arthur, Gwaine holds his hands up in surrender. Arthur’s already slumped back against the tree. He’s dehydrated, tired, hungry, restless, _broken,_ insane. Slowly, Gwaine walks away from Arthur, and Lancelot follows.

Arthur _doesn’t_ follow.

But for now, Gwaine believes it’s enough to know that one day _he will._


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been torn between posting this as two chapters or as one. But I kind of feel like they should be together, because the style and imagery used is kind of echoed in each scene.
> 
> Hope you like this chapter, some old familiar words all the way back from chapter 1 come to haunt us ;) - it does have significance after all!
> 
> Enjoy 
> 
> (FANMIX: Track 61: The Last Dragonlord or YOUTUBE: Matrix of Leadership, Steve Jablonsky) The music perfectly reflects this scene. 
> 
> PS- The metaphors in this chapter are directly linked to the previous one, these two chapters are intricately bound.

Merlin does not cry, at least not in front of the people. He does not allow the sobs bottling up inside to rise. To show such weakness, such _defeat_ would be the end of everything. Instead, he lets turmoil claw at his throat, burst into a chaotic throbbing in his body. His magic embraces it, soaks up the anguish, _basks_  inthe agony willingly. He keeps walking, feet stumbling forwards, entire body screaming for release, for some kind of rest. He does not rest. He _cannot_ rest. There is nothing to rest for. Over the horizon he is certain to see smoke. If there is none, he is certain there will be by the time they have walked to the edge of the Ealden forest. The name is strong; the name is _hungry_ for it.

But it’s too much. He clamps his eyes shut and allows himself a moment to wince at the excruciating feeling ploughing his body. He brings a hand to his side, inhaling rapidly. Will studies him cautiously but says nothing. Nobody says a word. They keep walking. Merlin barricades the pain away, unsure how long he can withstand it. He walks forwards aimlessly. They follow aimlessly, like mindless souls wandering through a dark purgatory.

Now it’s just too much, because Emrys doesn’t exist, Merlin is broken. Merlin is only a human being, he has his limits, his weaknesses, his flaws. He is not what the prophecies foretold. They got it wrong. He’s a helpless druid who is losing his magic because _magic is dying_. Merlin is not special. Emrys let them destroy _everything_. He was powerless. His destiny was wrong all along. How _could_ it be right when everything is gone?

It’s all gone.

_It’s all gone._

He stops walking.

They stop walking.

He casts an empty, meaningless look towards Gwen, and Will. Their empty eyes meet his submissively. Without any words, he stalks into the forest like so many have done before. All who have done so never returned. Gwenevere reaches out for him, her fingers curl at the ends. She says nothing, casting Will a look of despair. Will stares into the distance, watching Merlin walk away.  

Nobody follows him.

Out of sight, he flings himself against the trunk of a tree violently and slides down its rough back in exhaustion. He pushes his face into his knees, and lets out the inconsolable sobs. _It’s all gone, all gone._ Balinor. The name…the name. Hell, the name was so powerful he couldn’t even _think_ it. The explosives planted inside detonate and as his magic writhes inside, his eyes flashing ochre, he lets that name slip off his tongue. A name he had associated with so many things other than death and destruction, a name he had trusted, loved-

“- _A-Arthur.”_  

It feels liberating to say it, despite all the anguish inside. But nothing is how it seems. A few moments later the consequences of speaking that very name pelt him hard in the face. It’s more than he can handle. His magic hisses angrily, _fuming._ He screams and wails into the expanse of woodland. He should have never trusted that wretched name. He saw the vision in the Crystals. He should have acted upon his visions differently, _protected_ the people. He should have never let this happen. All of this was his fault. His father’s blood was on his own hands. And so would be Will’s and Gwen’s and his mother’s. They would all die – _every last druid_ – because of him. There was nowhere to go. Leaving the dying Albion would ensure a life of torture in the labs. Staying here would ensure psychological trauma beyond repair: to watch Albion die, and be completely powerless.

He was completely powerless in this time of darkness.

Albion was going to fall. Albion was over.

A subtle breeze creeps past Merlin, almost afraid to be heard. It could easily be dismissed. It isn’t. For reasons unknown to himself, Merlin lifts his head from his knees slowly. He takes a deep breath of air, lets it expand in his choking lungs. His stone eyes focus themselves upon the object by his feet. Painful memories ignite inside him at this object. It was given to him right at the beginning, when the name was fresh and exciting, _interesting._ It was overlooked, ignored. Wiping his eyes, he leans forwards towards the object. With a frenzied desperation he cradles it in his hands.

It is in times of darkness, when Hope is nothing but a distant mirage on the endless horizon, where Faith is dangling from a noose in front of your very eyes, and Peace is shattered into a thousand shards, when a new force is formed. It begins quietly, entwining itself around the wounded, the injured, the traumatised. It sits there silently, stirring over inside the blank, defeated minds of the people. It doesn’t heal the wounded, the injured, or the traumatised- even though it could. At first it does nothing, absolutely nothing. It allows them to dwell in their suffering, their despair. At first its presence is neglected. It has no purpose other than to amplify what has already been and gone.

Merlin studies the sapphire liquid swirling around inside the object, and a minute trace of _something_ begins to emerge behind his glassy eyes. It’s only a tiny ember, but it’s enough something to detect, it’s enough of anything to set in motion the force. He swallows hard, shaking hands reaching for the cork of this vial. The force – it magnifies the wounds, the injuries, the trauma. Merlin pours the sapphire liquid onto the ground beside him, lips trembling, eyes becoming treacherously open; emotions are beginning to seep back into them. The force increases the turmoil and calamity amongst the people, unleashing a whole new realm of evil upon an already broken civilisation. It grates down upon the children, beats the beaten, weakens the weak. It kills the souls of the barely living, it infects the wounds, it deepens the injuries; it worsens the trauma.

Merlin gazes into the water, and what he sees is the final spark to revivify his soul. He’s still broken. But he can feel this force wrapping itself around him. He hears that voice, the voice _needed_ so desperately to hear.

The force does this not out of spite or malice; it does this out of sincerity.

And now, Merlin is beginning to understand _why_. He understands the force, the importance of feeling such a thing, such an enormity of emotions.

Because to _feel_ such pain, such agony, such a _cataclysmic_ level of loss and complete obliteration once – it forges an unspoken vow, a promise that this will _never_ be felt again, at any cost. For the suffering of the innocent, the deaths of the righteous should not and _will_ not be in vain. As it is in darkness, when Hope is nothing but a distant mirage on the endless horizon, where Faith is dangling from a noose in front of our very eyes, and Peace nothing but a thousand tiny shards, that this new force is formed. It is in darkness, where the light shines the brightest – invisible to the naked eye, but ablaze within the hearts of the wounded, the injured and the traumatised. It is in darkness where turmoil and destructions escalates, only to be met by fortitude.

Merlin lifts himself onto his feet. He begins to walk, but for the first time it _isn’t_ aimless, his feet have a more pronounced echo. His _eyes,_ his eyes are back. He is seeing. He is _believing._ It is in darkness, where Hope is found – dehydrated and drained – but nonetheless found. It is fed, nurtured and rebuilt calculatedly, stronger than ever before, laced in the protection of an unbroken vow. A promise that this will pain, this agony, this loss and complete obliteration will never, _ever_ be felt again- at any cost. It is in darkness where Hope is resurrected, and taught to wield its own weapon.

Merlin walks through the resting, devastated druids. He walks past the wounded, the injured and the traumatised. He keeps walking, and with each step he takes his lips tingle. He knows now, that it is only in darkness that Peace is questioned, interrogated. Peace has been too _Peaceful_ about this massacre _–_ it’s allowed itself to shatter. Hope was no better, it simply didn’t want to be found and _Faith._ Merlin lets the whisper of a ghostly smile wisp over his face, haunting the broken druids who catch glimpse of it. _Faith_ hung itself, it was of its own doing. Gwen stands and makes her way towards Merlin. Will follows her. Hunith is already there, watching her son with confused eyes. A laugh escapes Merlin’s lips, bringing uncertainty to those who hear it, and a trace of _something._ It’s enough something to bring many to their feet.

Finally, voice scratchy and alien, somebody speaks.

“It’s all gone.”

Those simple words - it’s enough to light the final beacon in Merlin’s eyes. Turning to Gwenevere he finds his body gradually remembering how to signify emotions other than despair, trauma and melancholy. It’s all gone. An admission of this _out loud_ would have eradicated his soul less than an hour ago, allowing it to accept the darkness hovering around them. But, _times change, people change._ That ancient proverb. It finally beings to shed its elusive, enigmatic shroud and reveal its true meaning to Merlin. Pouring saliva into his dry mouth, attempting to co-ordinate the appropriate muscles, words form on Merlin’s tongue.

“Yes.” He says in a hushed voice, gripping the attention of all around. “ _It’s_ all gone. But it’s not _all_ gone.” 

Meeting his mother’s eyes, Merlin sighs, wishing he could restore the life back into them. Will and Gwen share their first form of interaction in days, exchanging looks of bewilderment. After a moment of silence, Merlin continues and raises his voice a little more.

“This is far from over. Magic is dying, but it’s not dead yet.” A hint of urgency laces his tone, enticing more to listen to him.

He turns to Hunith, Gwen and Will, offering them a small smile.

“I want you to lead the people to Iaonem-“

“-and where the hell are _you_ going?” The _sound_ of Will’s anger, that familiar irritation sends a thrill through Merlin’s body. Already, without even realising, they’re all changing. They’re all _feeling,_ they’re all thinking – they’re all healing.  The force is working.

“Will,” Merlin begins, the words of the voice he _needed_ to hear resonate through his mind, reminding him that this is not the end. This is not over. There is still a chance to restore Hope, Faith and Peace.

_It is foretold that Kilgarrah will rise in a time of great need to the call of a dragonlord._

“There comes a time when Peace stops itself from being shattered,”

_Deep within yourself you must find the voice that you and he share- for your soul and his are brothers._

“When it stops bending over backwards for everything else,”

_When you speak to him as kin, he must obey your will. For you alone carry the ancient gift._

“There comes a time when Peace stops running,”

_You, my son, are the last dragonlord._

“And it starts fighting for itself.”

**♦☼♦**

His eyes don’t leave the horizon until he sees Gwaine and Lance pass beyond it. He feels somewhere inside the delusional, mechanical model of himself _something_. He’s too weak, too delirious to diagnose the feeling. Instead, he laughs gruffly, throwing his head back viciously; it slams against the tree trunk. Not that he cares. Physical pain, emotional pain – there’s not much difference. He’s endured so much of it that he’s pretty sure he can’t feel _anything_ anymore. The numbness itself hurts the most, beneath it a layer of memories he’s swept into the corner of his mind.

It is in times of exile and condemnation, where man is full of greed and bitterness, that one heart reveals itself to be a dragon. And another, a dark daemon. Naturally, Arthur assumes he’s the dark daemon, because well…his actions definitely were not the actions of a great man, not even a good man. They were the actions of a man swathed in said greed and bitterness, too consumed in his own problems and folly to look beyond himself and put the people first. In the days that pass, he foolishly stumbles towards the corner, forgetting that in this time of exile and condemnation that the daemon heart mercilessly slits Hope’s throat, tramples Faith and breaks Peace into a thousand shards. It is in this time of exile and condemnation that on the first day, when the sun is blaring down on him, he doesn’t make it to the corner. All because Hope is dead. Faith is dead too, and Peace is slowly cutting up the soles of his bare feet. He laughs sadistically as night washes over him. Of _course_ he doesn’t make it to the corner. Just by _saying_ he was going to the fricking corner was a promise he’d go back on his words and destroy everything beautiful in his life.

Not that there _was_ anything beautiful left, mind you.

All the beautiful, precious things he’d squandered were also far over the horizon. He tried to imagine their faces, paint the expression in their eyes. He realises that most of them look much like himself. Only, he can’t focus on the features of their faces; it’s hazy and hollow. He can only feel the expression, vast expanses stretched across his empty, deteriorating mind.

The second day ends with him allowing the tears to fall down his face, because all this time he’s forgotten _the name_. The name Gwaine had spoken, the name that meant everything, the name that was everything. The name dances around him deceptively, never close enough for Arthur to break each individual letter from its motion and piece them together. For now, the name is a blur. There _is_ no name. And Arthur laughs before sleep overcomes him because it’s fucking hilarious.

It is in these times of exile and condemnation that the name is forgotten, a mirage in the distance.

It is in these times of exile and condemnation that he dreams of the towering flames, the raging destruction.

It is in times of exile and condemnation, where man is full of infinite greed and bitterness that this daemon heart decays all around it. It corrodes the earth, plagues the day and brings darker shadows than ever before into the night. It mercilessly slits Hope’s throat, tramples Faith and breaks Peace into a thousand shards. Hope is dead. Faith is dead too. Peace is shattered. And it’s the black heart that did this, the heart that was never pure, never _true._ It’s _his_ heart. It’s _his heart._

The third day, his stomach growls. His throat is dry. So he eats whatever he can find close to the tree. He searches for water in the right places, like the name taught him to. When his thirst is quenched, and he sits back down by the tree, an emotion begins to stir inside. He’s unsure what it is, or how to identify it. Thus, he internally describes it to himself, unaware parts of it are streaming from his mouth in a form of inane mumbling. He feels…he feels like he doesn’t _deserve_ to eat, to drink, to _breathe._ He’s pretty sure thousands of Druids also think the same, maybe even the name does. He feels like he’s destroyed a sacred bond between himself and the earth he’s sitting on.

He half-expects it to swallow him whole.

Suddenly, he finds that it has. The earth has opened up beneath him, revealing an endless pit of darkness. The lower he falls, he sees an orange glow. Then he feels the searing heat against his skin as he’s thrown into the towering flames. Hope is a mirage above him, Faith is dangling beside him, and Peace has disintegrated in the flames.

If an onlooker were watching, if there was anyone _stupid_ enough to still be here, they’d see a man writhing and yelling out for help in blind panic, eyes misted over.

It takes an hour for Arthur to realise that his skin is not burning. And therefore, the earth has _not_ swallowed him whole.

He kind of wishes it would though.

This kind of terrifies him.

It is in this time of exile and condemnation that a new force is born. It sits there silently, stirring over inside the blank, defeated minds. It doesn’t heal the wounded, the injured, or the traumatised- even though it could. At first it does nothing, absolutely _nothing._ It allows them to dwell in their suffering, their despair. At first its presence is neglected. It has no purpose other than to amplify what has already been and gone.

At first, Arthur doesn’t hear the gentle fluttering around him. He doesn’t register the small beating wings. He sits, face buried in his knees, no longer able to _think_ or feel. The only thing he’s able to do is sit, and breathe. The force – it magnifies the wounds, the injuries, the trauma. Sit and breathe, sit and _breathe._ Gasping a lungful of air, he clasps his throbbing eyes shut tighter. Sit and breathe, sit and breathe, sit and breathe. _Breathe_ goddammit. But it _hurts_ so much, it’s _all_ too much. Life is too much. The force increases the turmoil and calamity, unleashing a whole new realm of evil upon an already broken man. It grates down upon his bones, beats the bruises, weakens the strength. It kills his soul. He’s barely living anyway it’s not like it _matters._  It infects the wounds, it deepens the injuries; it worsens the trauma. _Sit and breathe, sit and breathe._

Panting, Arthur opens his eyes abruptly. He feels the soft caress against his forearm. He hears the smooth tone of its voice. He gazes down, and studies the creature silently. It looks up at him with its large, concerned lilac eyes. Reaching out with shaking hands, Arthur tries to make contact. He wants to feel the soft crimson feathers against his skin. It leaps backwards in alarm. This makes Arthur’s heart ache, his eyes water. He _feels,_ and he can _identify_ the emotion. It’s remorse. The force does this not out of spite or malice; it does this out of sincerity.

The creature looks at him, like he’s a stranger. It’s as if he’s _someone else,_ something else. Hell, Arthur _isn’t_ himself. He hasn’t been a human being for days. He desperately reaches out for the creature once more. When it reluctantly meets his hand, he feels – he feels _another_ emotion. Elation. And now, Arthur is beginning to understand _why_. He understands the force, the importance of feeling such a thing, such an enormity of emotions.

He gets to his feet slowly, legs aching. He uses the tree for support, a shaky smile dusting his face as the creature perches itself upon his shoulder, just like old times. Just like when everything was perfect, and the name….and the name was still here. He slings the bag over his shoulder, pulls the blade out from the sand.

He understands now. _Finally,_ its hit him all at once. Because to _feel_ such pain, such agony, such a _cataclysmic_ level of loss and complete obliteration once – it forges an unspoken vow, a promise that this will _never_ be felt again, at any cost. For the suffering of the innocent, the deaths of the righteous should not and _will_ not be in vain. As it is in exile and condemnation, where Hope is dead, Faith is dead too, and Peace is slowly cutting up the soles of his bare feet, that this new force is formed. It is in exile and condemnation, where the light shines the brightest – invisible to the naked eye, but ablaze within the hearts of the wounded, the injured and the traumatised. It is in exile and condemnation where turmoil and destructions escalates, only to be met by fortitude.

As he walks, certain of his destination, his _destiny,_ Arthur goes deep into the corner. He _makes_ it to the corner. He digs out the memories, allowing them to replay painfully through his tormented mind. It doesn’t hurt too much. In fact, it feels more like a strange, foreign release. The name slips in and out of his mind a whisper, a mere echo. Then it’s a mutter, a hiss, a shout, a cry, a _scream,_ a-

“-Merlin!” the name fires off his tongue, unleashing a dangerous amount of energy.

Merlin, _Mer_ lin, Merlin.

_In the time of exile and condemnation,_

The name, it’s Merlin.

_Where man is full of greed and bitterness,_

The name _needs_ him. He needs the name. He and Merlin are the once and future, the sun and moon, two sides of the same coin. They’re connected. Forever. He turns to the bird on his shoulder, his eyes revivify. His _soul_ returns from purgatory. It is in darkness, where Hope is found – dehydrated and drained – but nonetheless found. It is fed, nurtured and rebuilt calculatedly, stronger than ever before, laced in the protection of an unbroken vow. A promise that this pain, this agony, this loss and complete obliteration will never, _ever_ be felt again- at any cost. It is in darkness where Hope is resurrected, and taught to wield its own weapon.

He knows now, that it is only in exile and condemnation that Peace is questioned, interrogated. Peace has been too _Peaceful_ about this massacre _–_ it’s allowed itself to shatter. Hope was no better, it simply didn’t put up a fight and _Faith._ Arthur laughs. Faith killed _itself._ But this time it’s _different_ to the psychotic laughing. It’s full of meaning, a _promise._ A promise that he will _not_ turn back on. A promise that he has to fight for and damn all the consequences because nothing is bigger than this.

_Nothing_ is more important than this.

_One heart will reveal itself to be_

_A dark daemon,_

It was on the fourth day, that Arthur Pendragon walked through the forests, and _heard_ the trees whispering again. He felt the earth tremble beneath him powerfully. The sky was ablaze with the creatures and animals that were no longer afraid, because something had changed. The once and future was walking, the once and future was fighting for justice. And when man had revealed itself to be full of greed, and bitterness, the daemon heart had destroyed all.

_Blacker than night._

It was on the fourth day that Ábilgest had found him and raised his broken soul from perdition, reminding him that it was not all lost at all. Because it is _in_ these times of darkness, that you must never forget the name. You must embrace your suffering and accept your wrongdoings. But you must also understand that wallowing in _self-pity_ and guilt will not make amends for your actions. You must look destiny straight in the eye, clutch Fate by its wrist and say ‘it is in times of exile and condemnation that I looked to you, and you weren’t there. I will not follow in your footsteps, I will make my own. I will light the beacon, I will start the fire.’

_And another will step forth_

It was on the fourth day that Arthur Pendragon turned his destiny around. In this time of _exile_ and condemnation, when man is full of greed and bitterness, that his heart did _not_ reveal itself to be dark daemon he thought it was. His heart was not the daemon heart at all. Oh _no. His heart,_ his pure, broken heart was still beating. It hadn’t corroded the earth, plagued the day and thrown darker shadows than ever before into the night. That wasn’t _his_ heart at all. It was never his heart. It was the heart he had been _told_ to follow, the heart since birth he had obeyed and revered.

_Into the light_

_And reveal that it is in fact_

Arthur Pendragon’s heart had revealed itself to be something far greater and more just.

It had revealed itself to be a Dragon. 

_A Dragon._


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words.
> 
> I've had a completely rubbish (and painful) week and your comments have really cheered me up.
> 
> So I decided to update!
> 
> Enjoy...

Everything was hazy and somehow _unimportant_ after the collapse of the Crystal Cave, everything _hurt._ People around were wearing expressions of shock, some _of satisfaction_. The shock didn’t break her, the _satisfaction_ did. Because _how_ the fuck anybody could be _proud_ of this massacre, this complete _annihilation_ of a beautiful culture, it disgusted her. How _dare_ they see this as some kind of _triumph; an achievement._ The longer she stood there confined, _watching_ them gloat and boast about the ‘victory’, the worse her condition became. All she remembered was tearing herself from the grip of the two guards sadistically, and lunging with hot tears streaming down her face towards Valiant. She was screaming, _livid._ She didn’t care how big and strong he was compared to her. She was going to claw his eyes out then slash that smirk off his face.Then there was lots of noise, and chaos broke lose. Others began to protest, screaming and cursing the ones who let this happen. Valiant and the others fought back, some threatening to open fire on the ‘traitors’. Some _did_ open fire. Bullets showered the air; fellow friends fell to the ground in defeat. Leon followed blindly after her into the hectic storm. He called out to her but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Then the corners of her vision became darker and darker, until it faded out to black.

Now, she found herself in a dark, barricaded room. Light was scarce, as was _hope._ Leon was sitting in the corner silently, cupping his face with his hands. His appearance was troubled; _weakened._ Her mind drifted to Merlin, _Arthur._ They had been there whilst it all happened. Dread took hold, insatiable anxiety – were they even _alive?_ If they were, she doubted they were okay. It was Merlin’s _home_ after all.She tried to get to her feet, but like everything else- it _hurt._ Irritated, she gazed downwards and spotted her bandaged leg. She must have been injured. Resiliently, she pushed herself upwards, wincing at the pain. Damn pain, her leg was _nothing_ compared to what the druids had lost. For a moment she remained upright; a moan of despair slipped past her lips. Abruptly, just when she believed she could withstand the agony, she fell against the metallic bars weakly. A little breathless, disorientated and _angry,_ she turned to the man in the corner _._ He made no move to assist her. Leon gazed up slowly, face pallid and eyes vacant. They shared a look; a look that confirmed everything.

Uther Pendragon had destroyed Ealdor, and the Crystal Cave.

It was _all gone._

Clamping her eyes shut, Morgana slid down the metal bars dejectedly, ignoring the singe of pain against her back, too much pressure on her wretched leg. Leon crawled towards her, tentatively placing a hand on her knee. She shot him a miserable stare, eyes misty and confused. Everything was _hazy,_ and unimportant- yet paradoxically vital and perfectly in focus.

“What _happened?”_ she said, voice frail.

Leon averted his eyes, raking a hand through his curly hair. At first he was about to retell the dreadful tale, then obviously thought better of it. Twisting his lips, he remained quiet. Morgana didn’t want to be reminded of the cruelty of humanity- and neither did he. He patted her leg and apologetically removed his hand when she winced. He met her eyes cautiously; as if he had something he _had_ to say but didn’t want to. Imploringly, she maintained their eye contact.

“Uther has mislead us all,” he muttered bleakly. “This was _never_ a peaceful mission, I was foolish to believe that…I…” sighing, he ploughed a hand through his hair in despondency once more. Morgana, too weary and _broken_ to pry, simply dwelled in the haunting silence. Lifting his head, Leon swiftly changed the subject, not wanting to remember the dark past.

“ _You_ ,” he leant towards her, a frown on his face. “You dived straight for Valiant.” He shook his head, clearly unimpressed with her stunt – a trace of a smirk laced Morgana’s lips. Of course she did. “He knocked you over, you fell badly on your leg. So I…” pausing, Leon felt his cheeks redden a little. “ _I_ dived straight for Valiant too.”

Morgana gently placed her hands over his, a flicker of affection in her eyes.

“You tried to _defend my honour_?” she murmured in amusement, smiling weakly as Leon ducked his head in embarrassment. It wasn’t rocket science to figure out that he was _no match_ for Valiant. The black eye and ugly bruises on his shoulder were clear indications of this.

“We were _still_ trying to fight them when Uther came back-”

“- _He’s here?”_ Morgana cried, eyes flashing with rage, with upset.

“They sedated us both, so we couldn’t resist.” Flapping his arms about in a strange gesture, he looks around. “Now, here we are.”

Dismally, Morgana studied the dark room the pair were sat in. It was dull; _lifeless_ (although that description also applied to the whole building). There were no beds, just a silver tiled floor. She leant her head back against the metal bars, frowning. They were trapped down here, confined in cages, cages that clearly meant to house druids or prisoners. Given it was _centuries_ past the time of such practices, Morgana established this discrimination and prejudice had to say about the ethics of Camelot Enterprise; if it even _had_ ethics. Leon mimicked her actions dismally. It was no use trying to exert energy. They were definitely _not_ getting out of this room anytime soon. For starters, there no way out; unless somebody tried to get in. Camelot had meticulously built these rooms to ensure that nobody would ever be able escape.

If Morgana recalled correctly, the only way out was via a Camelot Base identity card. Foolishly, she searched her pockets. To her disappointment, Uther _was_ actually smart enough to take away their access cards. Shutting her eyes, inhaling a large breath, she tried to calm her aching body. Yet she could not. Her mind was reeling – what would Uther’s next move be? It _definitely_ wasn’t the end yet. This political statement was merely the first strike, the gash that opened the druid body and caused the first few droplets of blood. Uther was going to deepen that wound, she was certain of it. He was going to infect it with poison – but even _that_ wouldn’t be enough. As the poison rotted the core, he would continue to mercilessly strike at the heart. And for once in her life, though she hated to admit it because that thought _alone_ scared her: she was scared of him.

“How…how long have we been here?” Morgana asked quickly, attempting to free herself from her solitude before it began to toy with her emotions and manipulate the small pockets of good thoughts left, churning them effortlessly into malevolent schemes that would rival Uther Pendragon. She was unsure she wanted to know the answer to her question.

“About five days,” Leon responded darkly. “You’ve been slipping in and out of consciousness.” The concern and compassion in his voice touched her; clearly he had been worried about her.

“Is there anybody else here?”

Silence. Leon didn’t respond.

Morgana opened her eyes, studying Leon’s weary face carefully. Something was amiss in his complexion; his skin was pallid, his eyes drained of vibrancy. Those wonderful eyes had become nothing but a distorted memory of bright colour, lacking in the very thing that made them _human._ His jaw was clenched tightly shut, revealing strain. His body language was paradoxical. It seeped with tension, and yet also slumped in dejection. Both anger and sorrow were present, although both were too fragile and distant to fight each other for dominance. It was a terrible sight. Morgana wondered if she looked the same; she supposed she did.

Eventually, he made _some_ kind of communication (though it was bleak and performed with no conviction.) Grimacing, Leon pointed over to room directly opposite them. Following his eyes, Morgana noticed a small figure was huddled in the corner. The sight stunned her, _appalled_ her. Twisting to face the room, she clutched the bars desperately.

“…A _child?”_ she shrieked, glancing over to Leon in concern. Her actions became frenzied as she attempted to shake the bars. Trying to prevent Morgana inflicting pain upon herself, Leon gently steered her away from the bars. She met his eyes; they were laced in despair and apprehension.

“Is he hurt?!”

Shaking his head, Leon gazed over to the other room. There was a peculiar expression etched onto his face, one only few would come to understand. But as Morgana averted her attention towards the boy, she was unable to see it. A newfound affection swelled within her chest at the sight, an instinctive urge to _protect_. The child must have been no older than ten or eleven. He was huddled in the corner of his room, a majestic emerald cloak draped round his shoulders. His eyes were wide and haunting, even from this distance Morgana felt a little unnerved by how _comprehensive_ he appeared to be. Those vibrant eyes had the ability to look straight into her soul; they _had_ effervescence, they were a spectacle of fantastic colours. It was a curious sight, to see a child full of such _silent_ determination despite the events that had come to pass. The child’s eyes met hers across the room, sending a shudder up her skin. She drew her attention back towards Leon, feeling increasingly uncomfortable under the gaze.

“What is his name?”

Shrugging, Leon glanced over at the child who had diverted his attention from the pair.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t said a word since-”

“-Get _off me!!”_ A new voice surged through the air, breaking off Leon’s explanation. He met Morgana’s anxious eyes. Immediately, they both leapt onto their feet, clinging to the metallic bars. Leon would recognise that rugged, _rough_ voice anywhere.

The door to the holding cells was cast open dramatically. Four men in military attire hauled two figures through with ferocity. One of the men, tanned with dark eyes, had given up struggling against their vice-grip. The other man with sleek brown locks refused to give up so easily, that much was certain. He continued cursing, pushing against them savagely. Morgana studied the familiar characters, identifying them instantly. Lance and Gwaine. Her eyes widened, they had been _there,_ with _Arthur._ Scanning the corridor desperately, she felt her heartbeat quicken when Arthur’s presence didn’t arrive. There was no trace of him, or echo of his voice.

Leon grimaced at the red gash on Gwaine’s arms, watching helplessly as the guards cast them into the cell next to the child’s. The moment he fell to the ground, Gwaine jumped back to his feet, rushing towards the gate. He failed to make it before it was abruptly shut. Lancelot was regaining his breath, trying to remain _calm_ and calculated. Gwaine shook the bars forcefully, but _futilely._ Then with a laboured sigh, he rested his forehead against it. An unusual bleakness smothered him. Shit, they _needed Arthur,_ and they needed him now. Arthur was the only one who could have infiltrated Camelot without getting caught. But it was tragic - he wasn’t even _Arthur_ right now, just an echo of a human being; a lost tormented soul wandering aimlessly. 

Swallowing-hard, Morgana met Gwaine’s eyes. Arthur wasn’t here, so where _was he?_

“Is Arthur…” incapable of finishing the sentence, she clutched the bars tightly. Realising the implications of her sentence, Gwaine laughed bitterly. His uncharacteristic hostility alarmed her.

“No.” he responded. “But he may as well be-”

“- _Gwaine.”_ Lancelot warned, narrowing his eyes from the corner. It was clear by the tone of his voice he was unimpressed with Gwaine’s actions.

“-What?” the brunette asked tetchily. “You _saw him_.”

The memory of Arthur – or what was left of him – conjured sadness within the pair.  Lancelot refused to reply, sympathy staining his somnolent eyes; Gwaine didn’t elaborate, allowing the obscurity of his words to hover around Morgan and Leon. Gazing between the two men, Leon’s eyes flashed with realisation. He turned to Gwaine in concern; Morgana was quietly stirring over the meaning of his words.

“So, Arthur’s still out there?”

Lancelot shuffled awkwardly, averting his gaze. The man beside him was less subtle in his actions, not afraid to give an honest answer nobody really wanted to hear.

“Yes.”

At this, Morgana turned her attention towards them. Panic flickered through her eyes. Arthur was _out there,_ vulnerable and weak. What if he was injured, _wounded-_ no. Gwaine and Lancelot _wouldn’t_ just abandon him – would they? If so- _why?_ Leon’s words reassured her.

“With Merlin?”

Of course. Merlin would be there to look after him, even if _he_ was broken. Morgana had seen the look of undeniable affection and tenderness in Arthur’s eyes whenever the man was mentioned. It was painfully obvious that the two shared a profound bond, one that she was certain couldn’t be ruptured by even something like this. Merlin was strong-willed; Arthur was strong – together they could overcome anything. The thought of Merlin ushering Arthur to safety, trying to soothe utterly betrayed son of Uther Pendragon comforted her. Gwaine’s dismal expression did _not_ comfort her. It evoked something _terrifying_ inside her: doubt.

“… _Well-”_ he began in a tone far too bleak for her liking – it suggested that Merlin was _not_ with Arthur, that he really _was_ alone. Anger smothered her. Unable to conceal it, she unleashed the fire blazing through her skin; Gwaine’s words were caught in a deadly combustion, bringing them to an abrupt stop as they perished in the air, along with his composure.

“-You _left him_?”

“We came to rescue you-”

“-Some rescue.” Morgana snorted viciously, gesturing towards their current location (locked up in Camelot Base). “And I can’t believe you just _abandoned_ him.” The flames fizzled into scorching embers that began to reveal the hurt in her eyes.

“We didn’t _abandon_ him Morgana,” Gwaine said, even though yes – that kind of was _exactly_ what they’d done. “He’s not a lost child. We spoke to him like an _adult_ and he _chose_ not to come.”

Confused, the raven-haired woman mused over the words. That sounded contrasting to the Arthur Pendragon _she_ knew. Arthur had _chosen_ not to come? He had _chosen_ to wallow in self-pity and neglect his _duty_ to the people he loved, and the people who loved him. No. That _couldn’t_ be true. Shaking her head fiercely, she gazed over to Lancelot’s dreary expression for confirmation of this.

“He…He _wouldn’t.”_

Standing up, Lancelot met her eyes sadly.

 “I’m afraid so. Arthur is a _shell_ of a man, an _echo_ of himself. He was barely responsive.”

The words triggered worry inside of Morgana. Arthur was _never_ one to reveal emotions, or crumble under pressure and trauma. He was a strong character, always ploughing through the obstacles Uther had pushed into his path. Morgana could _not_ recall a time she had seen Arthur dwindle into a _shell of a man, an echo of himself._ But she was _fully aware_ of how god-damn selfless he could be at times. She assumed this lack of response and withdrawal was his method of despairing. He couldn’t be left _alone_ in that state, nobody could. It wasn’t _safe,_ it wasn’t healthy. She failed to understand _why_ Gwaine and Lancelot didn’t drag him along. Surely if he had made it to Camelot, it would have sparked some form of resistance within him? Gwaine identified the look on her face immediately, deciding to use it as a means of trying to pacify her.

“Ask yourself Morgana, do you _really_ want to see Arthur like _that?”_ he said.

Bringing her distant eyes to him, she swallowed-hard.

“No. But I’m beginning to suspect that you _do.”_

Taken-aback by her words, Gwaine maintained their stare. If only she knew the truth, everything Arthur had done…maybe she wouldn’t be so quick to defend him. He chuckled darkly.

“We need Arthur,” he replied ambiguously, not giving anything away. “Not some _broken_ man having a mid-life crisis.”

That rekindled the fire inside.

“This is no time to make _jokes!”_ Morgana exclaimed, detecting the sarcasm in his voice. “Arthur did _all_ he could to protect Ealdor, and you’re acting as if he’s committed a heinous crime.” Studying Gwaine curiously, she softened her voice a little. “Why are you so _angry_ Gwaine?”

Casting his eyes to the ground, Gwaine smiled grimly. There was a long silence between her question and his response, in which all four of them were incapable of escaping the gloomy aura trapping them. Gradually, he lifted his eyes, seeming to have come up with an appropriate response.

“I’m not angry, I’m disappointed.”

“What is it?” Morgana asked, instantly recognising that something was _hideously_ wrong, because _disappointment_ was so much worse than anger. As she flickered between Lance and Gwaine, her suspicions were confirmed. “What happened?” Neither made haste to answer, trying to both overpower her stare and avoid it. It was a terrible plan that failed spectacularly, and merely revealed the gravity of the undisclosed truth. Infuriated by their evident secrecy, she clutched the metal bars and addressed them how she would address Arthur when he was being a stubborn brat.

“ _Tell me.”_

Apparently it worked _far better_ on Arthur than anyone else. Gwaine gave no indication he was going to speak, sitting down on the ground. His eyes rested on the ceiling, tracing the patterns gently. The tanned man beside him remained standing. He cast one look over to a silent Gwaine, then frowned. Arthur’s story was not really their own to tell. Arthur was _tormented_ and clearly seeking restitution in himself for his actions. But this wasn’t a one-dimensional problem, or Arthur’s fault; it stretched far further through _years_ of history and different events. Their eyes met and Gwaine nodded bleakly, acting as some kind of confirmation. With that, Lancelot cleared his throat and prepared himself to deliver the news.

“Uther gave Arthur a secret agenda six months ago.” he recited slowly, watching Morgana’s eyes dim. “He was to go to Ealdor and negotiate the terms of their relocation so Camelot could mine underneath the Crystal Cave. If he failed to do so, Uther declared he would go through with the project – regardless of the population.”

“No.” Morgana whispered, feeling completely betrayed by the evident lack of trust her best friend had with her. He had _told them,_ but not her. “You’re _lying-”_

“-It’s the truth.” Gwaine injected, slowly turning his head in the direction of Leon and Morgana’s cell.

She attempted to process the overwhelming information. Arthur had _known_ from the very beginning, _before_ they had even reached Albion about Uther’s true intentions. With this hindsight, it all made sense. Uther placing Arthur in a different department, to disguise his true job…Arthur’s inability to _relax_ on the flight over to Albion; the tension that constantly leaked from his body. It revealed one thing: Arthur hadn’t _told anybody_ about this. He had carried this burden alone, allowing it to devour his insides. He had allowed it consume him; _destroy_ him. All this time, he had been harbouring this secret. And she was truly _hurt_ by this notion because he didn’t _feel_ like he could tell anyone.

“He could have told someone what was going on.” She quietly muttered; everybody understood the intended message: he could have told _me_ what was going on.

Sighing, Gwaine’s eyes softened, _sympathy_ of all things etched onto his weary face. 

“He couldn’t – if he told _anybody,_ the whole plan would have been sabotaged. Arthur was trying to _buy time_ for the druids”

Leon hummed in agreement.

“He blames himself for all of this.” He added. Lifting his head, he addressed his friends bravely. “But he is not to blame for being misguided and manipulated, I _understand_ his burden. Three months ago, Uther gave me a similar task (Morgana focused all her attention on him). He told me that the druids were preparing for war, and the only way to save them was through-”

“-The druids are peaceful people!” Morgana interrupted furiously, glowering at the man. “Arthur I can understand.” She sighed at the memories. “Six months ago he _revelled_ his father, obeyed every command like a toy soldier. But you? How could _you_ of all people be so misled by Uther?”

The question had an element on truth that intrigued Gwaine. Morgana was _right._ Leon was practically an _expert_ on Druid life, Druid culture, _everything_ Druid. Arthur had been taught practically since _birth_ for his father that magic was evil. Leon was whole different story. To have _believed_ that they were gearing up for war – it made no sense. He couldn’t help but feel something was _missing_ from this puzzle. Leon noticed the growing curiosity and doubt arising from the pair, and replied. 

“I had a momentary lapse of judgement I admit.” Morgana was about to pry, because ‘a momentary lapse of judgement’ wasn’t a good enough excuse. However, Leon continued to speak. “I know what I have done is wrong, and I assure you I had _no idea_ of what Uther was _truly_ asking…what the Albion Project _actually was_.”

Morgana knew Leon; in fact she knew a lot of people inside out. Being able to predict and understand behaviour in her friends was something she had nurtured for a long time. Leon was concise and yet broad when it came to answering personal questions. For now that was all he was going to say on the matter, so there would be no point dwelling on it. Nothing would be able to drill out the rest of the information required. She glanced over to Gwaine subtly and offered him a small smile; one she hoped conveyed her message. He seemed to understand and refused to pry. Instead he looked away, dark amusement smothering his face. It seemed everyone was sheltering dirty little secrets now. He dared hazard a guess as to who would be revealed as a liar next.

Leon breathed heavily, evidently distressed and troubled by the recent events and his own confession. He hadn’t wanted to tell his friends this way, he didn’t want them to _misjudge_ him. He had never believed in Uther’s ideology, or approved of the ‘Great Purge’. Technically, he _was_ a Druidian – not an active one, but he more or less acted like one. He had always been surprised that nobody had ever questioned his beliefs, or his avid interest in the druids. It _had_ to be for a reason that he hadn’t been prosecuted or interrogated. It seemed now he _knew_ the reason, and he didn’t like it one bit. Gently, Morgana reached over towards him and clutched his hand. There was no indication of whether the gesture consoled him or not. She lingered beside him for a few more seconds, then glanced over to Lancelot.

“Merlin,”

Although he was not the closest friend, he had helped her in a time of great need. Merlin was pure of heart- the druid who had helped shape Arthur Pendragon into the great man he was supposed to become. Oh now the secret agenda _changed_ everything. Arthur had betrayed him. She assumed Arthur hadn’t even _told Merlin._ This was not something that would be taken lightly by the future leader of the Ealdor clan, she was sure. Merlin had a responsibility to his people to protect them from harm, and he had _led_ danger right to them unknowingly. He had trusted Arthur. Now his whole home was gone, the Crystal Cave was gone. It was _all gone._ She wouldn’t be surprised if he blamed Arthur Pendragon for it all. From his perspective, it would be difficult not to, to look beyond the initial confession and see the _truth._ She failed to realise the sudden rousing of the child at Merlin’s name.

“Is Merlin okay?”

Gwaine bowed his head and Lancelot grimaced, revealing that _no,_ he wasn’t okay. Morgana shut her eyes for a moment, thinking words of consolation for the druid. Of course he wasn’t okay. Arthur had torn him apart, then his _father_ had literally torn the most sacred part of Albion apart. Lancelot broke her from her thoughts.

“His father was killed in the destruction.”

The words triggered animation in Gwaine.

“We _need_ to get out of here.” He said, leaping back onto his feet.

“And how do you propose we do that exactly?” Morgana snapped petulantly. There was no use in devising a plan without a strategy or means of escape!

“I don’t know,” Gwaine admitted. “But Uther will destroy _everything_ if we don’t.”

“There’s no point wasting our energy if we don’t have a plan,” Leon frowned, gesturing for Lance and Gwaine to sit down. They did, establishing he was right. “We need to rest and regain our strength.”

**♦☼♦**

The lack of windows obscured the sense of time, or whether it was day or night. Nonetheless, sleep had crept over them almost instantly; all but the nameless child in the corner and Morgana who found her brain was unable to switch off. She was huddled at the front of the cell, knees drawn up towards her chest. She stared absently at a patch of stone in front of her, whilst churning the recent news around inside her head. Arthur’s secret, his complete betrayal to Merlin, Leon’s mysterious re-assignment that somehow involved Ealdor. The obliteration of Druid culture, the massacre of homes and _innocent lives._ It was all too much to take in. She dreaded to think what was happening right now. Was Uther still here in Camelot Base planning his next move? Or was he back out in Albion with his personalised army?

_Morgana…_

Lifting her head she gazed around the cell. The voice was _in her head._ For a second she thought it was Merlin. However, then she realised it was too juvenile and young to be Merlin’s voice. Confused, she dropped her caution and submerged back into her thoughts. Two seconds later, the voice sounded again. This time she looked beyond her cell. She felt herself drawn towards the child, and discovered that he was sitting close to the bars (rather than in the corner), eyes wide. His piercing eyes were locked onto her, almost unnervingly. A trace of smile ghosted over his lips. Overall, his complexion was entrancing and haunting. Morgana knew his skin shouldn’t be that pale, it suggested lack of food and water – which angered her. However, right now curiosity overpowered anything else she felt, because the druid child _was speaking._

Vigilantly gazing between Leon, Lancelot and Gwaine, to ensure they were asleep, she leant towards the bars. Assured they were asleep, she whispered in response to the words in her head.

“What’s your name?” she enquired gently, wishing she could reach over and draw the child into her arms for protection. Not that he needed protection, he was different somehow.

_Mordred._

The voice rang through her ears.

“Why won’t you talk to the others?” she hissed after a few seconds.

Mordred studied her interestedly. There was a moment’s silence before dangerous words resounded in her mind.

_They’re not like me…like us._

Morgana failed to see the difference between herself and her friends. Narrowing her eyes, she met Mordred’s eyes in confusion.

“I…I don’t _understand.”_ Although deep inside, she _did_ understand. She just didn’t want to, because the implications of understanding were _severe;_ horrific.

_Those you hold dear have deceived you._

“Explain yourself!” she raised her voice a little, relieved to find no-one stirred at the abrupt shift in volume.

 _Emrys and Arthur,_ Mordred began, never breaking the gaze between them. Emrys- Morgana drew her eyebrows together. She knew that name; the greatest druid of all time. When _she_ had called Merlin Emrys, he had failed to respond to it. Comprehension flashed over her – if Merlin _was_ Emrys then that had to mean that he and Arthur-

- _Have deceived you. Your nightmares are more than what they appear._

Reaching for her arm subconsciously, Morgana gazed at the fading Fruten marks over her arms. She hadn’t had any nightmares since Merlin had given her the remedy for the bites. How could this be true? Confused, she met his eyes imploringly. Fear and confusion overwhelmed her senses. The child understood what she was silently asking and continued.

_Merlin induced the remedy with his magic, suppressing your dreams. But you are a seer Morgana._

A _seer –_ sitting upright fully, she clutched onto the bars desperately. What was Mordred saying? A seer had the ability to foresee the future, predict events. Morgana was not prepared for his next words.

_You have magic._

Wanting to block out the voice in her head, she buried her head in her knees, allowing the tears to mist over her eyes. _Magic._ Was it magic? It _did_ make sense. She had _dreamt_ of fire and destruction, the very destruction that had come to pass. She had dreamt many things, some had not come to pass yet – they _wouldn’t_ because her dreams weren’t real. Merlin – _Emrys –_ had told her so. The bites, they induced hallucinations. Yes. Her eyes suddenly darkened. _No._ No. These were _never_ just hallucinations, she should have known better than to have been so misled. All her life they had told her they weren’t real, a mere creation of her active imagination. But they were _real…_ it _was_ magic – it _wasn’t._ It couldn’t be – Arthur would _never_ keep such an important secret from her…or would he? Given his recent actions, and the secret agenda, she was no longer _sure_ of who Arthur was anymore.

 _Can you not feel It Morgana…_ Morded’s voice slipped in her mind, sensing her doubt. _Feel it inside of you?_

A few seconds passed, and to her horror she found that she _could_ feel it. That tingling sensation bottled beneath her skin, the burning inside of her very soul; the images that haunted her dreams. It was real, it was _all real._ Panic swallowed her whole, casting her into a bit of oblivion. All this time, she _had_ magic – but Merlin had cast her away from Ealdor. _Arthur_ had played along, assuring her they were just dreams. Merlin had used _his magic_ to weaken her own. Holding a hand to her throbbing head, she gasped.

“How do you know this?” she didn’t meet his eyes, staring back at the dull spot of stone in front of her.

_Emrys was hard to see into, but Arthur. His mind was not so guarded. I saw his thoughts. I saw his secrets._

Secrets – it sickened Morgana. Arthur had _known,_ and he had left her here in Camelot. For the first time in her life, Morgana understood _truly_ what isolation was, how it felt to be completely and utterly alone; _alone._ Swallowing-hard, she finally met Mordred’s gaze. _So alone._ Her eyes were burnishing with hurt and desire for answers. She _wanted_ to know everything, but she feared it would not bode well. Eyes watering, she gazed up to the ceiling for a second, attempting to blink away the tears. _So alone, all alone._ Arthur had magic – he could have helped her, he could have _tried_ to find her refuge in Ealdor. _Merlin –_ Merlin had completely gone against everything the druids stood for. He had _denied_ her of her gifts, without her consent. Both of them had committed grave wrongs against her – she covered her mouth to supress the burst of upset. It lingered for a moment. Then bravely she feigned composure and asked the question that had been dangling in front of her tauntingly.

“What else have you heard?”


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys - thanks so much.
> 
> Really hope you like this one. Things are heating up again ;)
> 
> Please listen to Track 65 'Arthur and Morgana' in the second scene or Youtube: 'the bond of sacrifice' - Rob Lane.
> 
> Thanks everyone. You keep me and this story going! 
> 
> ENJOY THIS.

A few hours rest was all they could manage without feeling guilty or the need to communicate with each other. Lancelot had been the first to wake, gazing over at Morgana who was sitting silently still, in the same position she had been when they had drifted into the world of dreams. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale. Her glassy eyes refused to focus on anything. She was crouched in on herself, dark hair covering most of her face. Gwaine woke up next; luring them into an air of fake nonchalance in hope that it would raise spirits. He too had noticed that Morgana appeared _far_ too quiet for the outspoken, brazen woman she was. Nonetheless, he put it down to fatigue and trauma. They had all experienced much suffering and witnessed a disaster; even if _he_ pretended he was fine, he wasn’t inside. Gwaine was just _better_ at concealing his turmoil, masking it. Arthur was better though; he would have used it to completely _wipe out_ any sense of suffering in _all of them,_ and replace it with fortitude to bring about justice.

But Arthur wasn’t here.

Arthur probably would _never_ be here.

Leon had awoken next, silently observing his friends (lingering mainly on Morgana who had now shut her eyes). Believing her to be asleep, he had glanced over to Gwaine, beginning to discuss ideas for escaping. How the hell it had led to this disastrous attempt at ‘everything is fine’, he was unsure. Morgana was still resting, her face concealed by her knees. Lancelot was pensively studying the cages, as if he was certain there would be a way to break them. Gwaine on the other head, head rested against the wall behind him, smirked playfully. He glanced over to Leon before speaking.

“Eye-spy with my little eye, something beginning with-”

Rolling his eyes, Leon groaned melodramatically. How many times was Gwaine going to play this wretched game and try to lift everyone’s spirits?

“-I _swear_ to God Gwaine,” he began irately, pointing his finger towards the rugged man. “If it’s _bars_ again-”

Shooting Leon a pointed look, Gwaine sighed. Morgana made no move to join in their conversation or tell them off. Instead she listened to their argument, hoping it would distract her from her dismal thoughts, the truth that was eating up her insides ruthlessly.

“-You just _had_ to spoil it didn’t you?-”

“-This must be the _twentieth_ time you’ve spied something beginning with B!” Leon complained, unsure why he was _so irritated_ by this. Gwaine grinned from his corner, seemingly satisfied with Leon’s response. “If you’re going to play at least chose a different letter,” Leon’s voice rose. “A different _thing-!”_

“-Shhh.” Lancelot hissed abruptly, bringing the pair to silence. Standing up, he clutched the bars, gazing down the hallway. Gwaine and Leon exchanged cautious glances, unsure what exactly they were _supposed_ to be hearing. Slowly, Morgana lifted her head, gazing at Lancelot forlornly.

“Do you hear that?”

Furrowing her brow, Morgana focused her attention. Gwaine and Leon got to their feet, leaning close to the metal bars that contained them. Beyond the silence of this room, there was definitely _something_ stirring. It was quiet, _hushed._ But the sound of the electronic doors opening was unmistakable. Somebody was coming through. Releasing his hands from the bars, Leon retreated from the front of the cage. The guards weren’t exactly pleasant and if it was Valiant – then they sure where in for some trouble. Gwaine and Lancelot didn’t cower from the front, too curious and _hopeful_ to look away. The locked door beeped, indicating somebody had swiped in. With one click, the door opened. The figure stepped out of the shadows, sword clasped in one hand. His skin was stained with mud and dirt, his eyes wild and restless. His blonde tousled hair was chaotic, but his demeanour was no longer that of a broken man.

It was Arthur Pendragon.

Arthur had _come back._

“Arthur!” Lancelot laughed in glee, studying the man before them with newfound confidence.

 _“About time,_ back to normal now are we?” Gwaine teased, reaching his hand through the bars to pat Arthur on the shoulder.

Leon rushed towards the bars excitedly. The moment he caught sight of Arthur’s face and knew for sure it definitely was him, his features became illuminated. Morgana slowly got onto her feet, unresponsive and impassive. She watched as Arthur turned her back to them, facing Gwaine.

“I’m sorry Gwaine,” he said with a frown. “You were right. I need to take responsibility for my actions,” abruptly he spun around to face Morgana, fondness in his eyes. “Fight for what is right and _damn the consequences.”_

Morgana’s lips upturned at the comment, despite her trying desperately hard not to pander to Arthur’s pseudo-compassion. If he _really cared,_ he would have done something sooner. This wasn’t just about _her_ and her magic; this was about Ealdor as well. Arthur noticed a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and studied her pallid complexion in concern. Something was amiss with his sister. No doubt she had mourned for Ealdor and the Crystal Cave.

“You better let us out then!” Gwaine chimed, drawing Arthur away from the woman.

Grinning, Arthur pulled out the card from his pocket. He was relieved he had kept it after all this time. It had proved extremely useful. In his new druid attire, barely _anybody_ would have recognised him now. He was a completely different person, reborn…and now an outcast on both sides. Slashing his card through the scanner, Arthur stepped aside, allowing Lance and Gwaine to escape their cage. He repeated the process for Morgana and Leon, and then for the mysterious child who no doubt was a druid. Empathy etched into his face as he studied the young druid. The druid child studied him cautiously, eyes slicing through his skin. It was clear he knew exactly who Arthur was and _what_ he had done. Spooked by the intensity of the druid’s stare, Arthur turned his attention to Leon and Morgana.

Once again, Morgana didn’t quite meet his eyes, a _forced_ smile stretched over her face. As they made their way towards the door, Arthur quickly swiped it open, he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Are you alright?” She simply nodded, limping forwards.

_Limping._

Gazing down, Arthur spotted the bandage wrapped around her leg. Hauling one of her arms over his shoulder, he felt a raging inferno smother him. Had _Uther_ done this, or Valiant? Morgana was clearly injured. Ushering the escapees down the corridor, Arthur dragged Morgana along, keeping an eye out for any possible threats as they walked. They continued down the corridor, Leon and Morgana the only one truly certain of where exactly they were. It had been a _while_ since Gwaine, Lance and Arthur had been in Camelot,to say the least. Eyes flashing silver, Arthur focused on her leg silently. Morgana winced in pain as a tingling sensation spread over the wound. The moment the tingling stopped, the pain didn’t return.

“You should be able to walk on it now.” He explained, a little surprised when she twisted viciously out of his grasp. Striding forwards, she clenched her fists. Arthur trailed behind her, not liking her attitude one bit.

“What happened?” he asked fearfully.

Spinning around, she glared at him menacingly. Arthur came to a halt, examining her in bewilderment. Arthur had seen Morgana _angry_ many times before, but this was _different._ This emotion stretched far deeper than when he had allowed Gaius to be captured. This anger was searing hot, _overflowing_ and pouring over his skin. But it wasn’t _just_ anger. There was poignancy behind those widened eyes, and also bitterness.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Her voice was even and drenched in acrimony; it sent an unpleasant shiver up Arthur’s spine. Swallowing-hard, he gazed into her eyes imploringly, wanting to know what had caused such fury, distress and upset within her. She withheld her ferocious glare, jaw clenched tightly shut. The sound of sirens blaring through the building shook Arthur back into action. Gwaine, Leon and Lancelot turned to him questioningly; they were quite a far way ahead now. As they rushed back towards Arthur and Morgana, Arthur passed the key to Gwaine.

“Uther has initiated lockdown. You will only be able to get out using this key-”

“- _Arthur.”_ Gwaine began warningly, knowing where this was going and not liking it one bit.

“-Morgana and I will rally supplies. Meet us by the outskirts of Dresdentian-”

Morgana looked at Arthur; he didn’t meet her gaze. It was _obvious_ he knew something was bothering her, and had decided they needed some privacy. Mentally preparing herself, Morgana felt nausea overpower her system, nervousness.

“-But _Arthur-”_

“-GO!” Arthur demanded, giving Gwaine a gentle shove forwards for good measure. With one final glance, Gwaine nodded and raced down the corridor with Lancelot. Leon reached for the child who slipped out of his grasp. Mordred spun around, his emerald cape creating a hypnotic pattern in the air. Morgana smiled weakly at the child, fondness brightening her sickly complexion for a moment.

_Goodbye Morgana. We will meet again someday…_

With that, the druid child ran after Lance, Leon and Gwaine. Arthur grabbed Morgana by the arm, dragging her a different direction, towards one of the weapon rooms. His eyes flashed silver and the foreign tongue of the druids sounded from his mouth. Instantly the door in front of them opened, allowing them through safely. The sirens had grown louder. Red lights blinked red constantly, the normal lighting dimming. It created disorientating patterns as they ran. The sound of people invaded their ears. Gazing around desperately, Arthur spotted a room down the next corridor.

“Come _on!”_ he cried, tugging Morgana towards it frantically.

They entered the room swiftly, the sound of the guards echoing in the near distance. Regaining his breath, Arthur pressed his hands to his knees. He had _no idea_ how they were going to get out. He hoped he had memorised Merlin’s transportation spell properly. Morgana was cryptically silent beside him. He raised his head towards her. Then it all happened so quickly he didn’t have time to react, even with magic. Morgana outstretched her palm towards the door vehemently, locking it. Then she turned on her heel towards him, face full of wrath. Eyes wide, he studied her. _Magic._ She had just used magic, which had to mean _somehow_ she had discovered her secret gifts. Arthur anxiously extended his own hand for protection, unsure how best to approach this subject. Clearly, she was hurt and angry with him. The pair circled each other dangerously, Morgana’s eyes never left his own.

“I thought we ought to have a heart to heart,” She said darkly, a newfound confidence in her step. “After all, there is _so much_ to discuss.”

“Morgana…” he uttered beseechingly over the sirens.

Tilting her head to one side coyly, Morgana crinkled her eyes; a fervent smirk slipped over her lips as the light flashed red rather fittingly.

“Please stop pretending, _dear brother.”_

**♦☼♦**

Her words stunned him, _brother._ He was unable to conceal his shock, which confirmed her suspicions. They _were_ siblings; they were born of the same father, just as Mordred had told her. Eyes watering she lowered her palm and stared over at the only family she had. Arthur mimicked her actions, desperation burnishing in his sapphire eyes. He’d lost too many people; he couldn’t bear to lose another to his foolish actions. Especially Morgana, she’d been with him his entire life. She had _always_ been a huge part of his life, important and special. Failing to find words, he stared at her dismally; wishing he could fix things with magic but knowing there was no way. Averting her gaze, Morgana grimaced. She’d never imagined _Arthur_ to be the one she would have to face in this manner. He’d always been her closest friend, like a _brother._

Incapable of lingering in the haunting sirens, she met his eyes.

“You _lied_ to me!” she cried over the noise. “About everything.”

Leaning forwards, Arthur shook his head urgently. _No,_ no. This wasn’t happening. He’d lost Merlin, Gwen, _the people-_ for a while he’d lost Lancelot and Gwaine too _._ He couldn’t lose Morgana, he _couldn’t._ She took a step backwards from him, eyes flashing with caution.

“No you don’t _understand-”_

“-What else is there to understand?” she hissed bitterly. “You lied about your secret plan. You lied about my family,” voice cracking under strain, she caressed one of her wrists. “My _magic.”_

The hurt in her voice broke Arthur again. Quickly, he charged towards her. It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ to keep any of it a secret, he had _never_ intended for any of this to get so out of hand, to become so fucked up. Casting her eyes to the ground, Morgana shook her head in despair.

“I can’t believe _everything_ you’ve done-”

Reaching for her, he grabbed her wrist tightly. She lifted her gaze instinctively towards his watery eyes. His eyes were soft and _sincere,_ full of profound guilt and torment. It was a horrible sight, even now after all he’d done. She could see that Arthur was still broken. No matter how he tried to hide it, he was a shell of a man, an echo of himself – he just had decided to try and _do_ something with the overload of emotions. But there was also panic inside of those eyes, _fear._ An insatiable fear she had never witnessed before.

“-I did it to _protect you.”_ He muttered, barely audible over the sirens.

She leant closer to him.

“What makes you think I needed _your protection_?” breaking out of his grasp, but making no effort to move away, she bit her lip in upset. Protection. At first the words infuriated her, and then it induced further pain. As always, Arthur had done what he thought was _right –_ protecting her from the risks of Camelot Enterprise, sheltering her from Uther’s callous views on magic. Even if she _was_ his daughter, Morgana doubted her would spare her, or Arthur, the treatment every other druid faced: the labs. Arthur had been trying to save her from an impending doom; he just hadn’t gone about it very gracefully. Arthur smiled at her; but it wasn’t a smile. It was a signal, a _pleading_ signal for forgiveness, for _some_ kind of response.

He cupped her face with his hands urgently; Morgana felt her own sorrow consume her.

“Do you know how _alone_ I’ve been?” she shrieked. Arthur pressed one hand to her raven-hair, resting his forehead against hers. “How… _scared I’ve been…_ ” her words became less cohesive through her upset. She clasped Arthur’s shoulders in despair. He was all she had right now, despite his wrongdoings. Panic swathed her system. She was _still_ alone. She was _always alone._ “ _You…”_ she dug her nails into his jacket, afraid he was a hallucination, that this was all one of her cruel dreams. “You _left me…”_

Arthur flinched at the accusation, the _pain_ in her voice. Caressing her hair gently, he managed to speak through his distress.

“I’m _so_ sorry Morgana-”

“-You let me believe I was imagining it all…” she whispered, pulling out of his embrace abruptly. Her expression dramatically changed, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel they were going round in an endless spiral of misery.

“I thought you’d _changed.”_ She admitted pensively.

Arthur’s upset morphed into rage. He distanced himself from her, hand raised.

“I am _not_ the man I was!” he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of this, emotionally conflicted and torn. “And I _never_ will be again-”

“-Why didn’t you _tell me_ Arthur?” she snapped, no longer thinking about his feelings and only caring for her own. 

Arthur selfishly did the same, becoming defensive. Voices began to echo down the corridor; neither made haste to move.

“You don’t _know_ what I’ve been through Morgana, the weight that is crushing down upon my soul-”

“-You’re right!” she screeched, tears threatening to fall from her eyes once again. “I don’t know because you have neglected to _trust me_ all this time _._ ” Frowning, she tried to calm her shaking body.

“Don’t be stupid, I’ve always trusted you.” Arthur replied sternly, attempting to address her with a level voice lacking in obvious emotion. Swallowing-hard, he met her eyes. “Which is why you need to know why I…I left Camelot for good.” Eyes diminishing in vibrancy, Arthur sighed. “My mother, Igraine, was unable to conceive. Uther called upon Nimueh to help create a child. I am a _product_ of magic, that’s why I can do magic.” Pause, his eyes flickered with grief. “And in order to me to be born, somebody had to _die_.” Tracing the Merlin-bird necklace gently, Arthur forced a smile, trying to remember her beautiful face. Already, her features had become blurry, his mind unable to hold onto an honest representation of her.

Morgana remained silent, understanding what he meant.

“Uther has to be stopped,” he said changing the subject. “I _know_ you support me on this.” He looked into her eyes softly, taking a step forwards. “I _promise_ when all of this is over, we can talk. Or we don’t have to talk ever again,” sadness etched onto his face at the notion of that. “ _Please_ don’t let my mistakes cause more suffering to the people of Albion. We need to make a stand.”

Nodding, Morgana took a step forwards.

“I will forgive you one day Arthur,” she mused quietly, a sad laugh escaping her lips. Of course she would, it was _Arthur._ They were Arthur and Morgana.“But you have _caused me_ so much pain-”

“-I know, and words cannot express how… _sorry_ I am.” He whispered, knowing it was not enough that sorry was simply just a word and no longer meant anything. Nonetheless, a small smile tickled her lips, revealing that for now, that was enough. Smiling back, Arthur pulled her into a firm embrace.

The door suddenly swung open, revealing a large group of guards. They pulled apart fiercely at the intrusion. Arthur pulled his sword out, his other palm outstretched. Morgana reached for one of the weapons hanging on the wall, mimicking Arthur in his actions. More guards spewed in, backing them further into the room. None other than Valiant emerged from the group, gun hoisted over his shoulders. Smirking at the pair, he ushered the guards backwards, allowing the three of them more space. Arthur kept his ground, not allowing the man to intimidate him.

“Well, well, _well,”_ diverting his attention to Arthur, Valiant raised his eyebrows. “How _far_ you have fallen Arthur Pendragon.” Reaching for his gun, he gestured towards their weapons. “I suggest you put those down.”

Reluctantly, Arthur tossed his sword to the floor holding his hands up in surrender. Morgana gazed over to him in shock and disgust – how _dare_ he just yield to Valiant’s command. Catching his eye, she almost _missed_ the wink he gave her. Slowly, Morgana placed her weapon on the ground and held up her hands. Valiant appeared to be _delighted_ with their obedience. Striding forwards, he leant towards Arthur and studied his attire. He was dressed in simple clothing, any sense of corporal stature completely gone. He was a _disgrace_ to Camelot Enterprise, he always had been.

“You really _are_ one of them aren’t you?”

Silence. Arthur glowered at the man, refusing to respond verbally. Nothing could have prepared Arthur for the brutal punch that met his stomach, followed by the metal of the gun crashing against his jaw. Sprawling to the ground, Arthur spluttered in shock, gasping for air. _Fuck_ that hurt. Morgana made no movement other than a miniscule flinch, knowing this was no joke. One step out of line, Valiant _would_ fire. He was ruthless, _callous._ Cradling his stomach with one hand, Arthur clamped his eyes shut, body throbbing.

“ _Pathetic_.” Valiant spat, ensuring to kick Arthur in the stomach before turning to Morgana. His eyes trailed over her body before resting back on her face. “Shame we have to kill you really,” he gently smoothed a hand over her face. “You’re _so_ beautiful-” Without hesitation, Morgana pushed him backwards, eyes smouldering with hatred. The guards chuckled, Valiant grinned, unfazed by her actions.

“So full of fire too,” he sauntered towards her once more. “Are you always this, passionate?”

Seething, Arthur reached for the sword on the ground, managing to haul himself back onto his feet.

“Get away from my sister you bastard!” his voice lacked conviction, the way he stumbled on his feet made his threat far less menacing than intended.

Regaining his balance, Arthur tried to cast the dizziness he felt aside. Valiant turned his attention towards him.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you die Arthur.” He admitted, cracking his knuckles for effect.

Arthur tightened his grip on the sword, teeth gritted together.

“I’m not afraid of you.” He said maliciously.

This seemed to amuse Valiant greatly. Morgana didn’t waste this opportunity. She knew she only had a few seconds before chaos would break lose. Whacking Valiant round the head with the gun she watched him fall to the ground. The guards lunged forwards ready to open fire. Eyes flashing silver, Arthur pushed a handful of them back, creating a domino effect. Gun in her hands, Morgana turned her attention to her brother.

“I’ll hold them off, you get out of here.” She barked. “Find Merlin and stop Uther-”

“-Oh _no.”_ Arthur groaned, pushing her behind him- this was so cliché. “ _You_ don’t get to be the protective sibling. I’m the older one remember?” he met her eyes for a moment and extended his hand. “I’m not going anywhere without you ever again.”

Rolling her eyes she feigned annoyance, but reached for his hand nonetheless.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other then.”

Squeezing her hand, Arthur smiled fondly.

“Guess you’re right Morg.”

The guards began to fire their bullets, the sound loud enough to overpower the sirens. In a flash of blinding light, the pair vanished. The only thing left in their place were gold and silver particles, sparkling as they danced around the room. Confused, the guards refrained from shooting. They gazed around the room, as if believing somehow they’d find them. But there was no trace of Morgana and Arthur Pendragon.

They had literally _disappeared_ into thin air.

**♦☼♦**

A whirlwind of colours, and the deafening sound of gunfire morphed into the familiar forests of Albion. The trees here were still standing; although from here, you could see the smoke, see the extensive _gap_ where Ealdor once was. Leon sighed in relief at the sight of Morgana and Arthur. He reached for Morgana first, planting an affectionate kiss on her temple.

“Thank _goodness,”_ he breathed, turning to Arthur. “Gwaine was beginning to get angsty and bromantic.”

The words triggered brief hilarity in everyone apart from Gwaine. Waltzing towards them, Gwaine scoffed. He refused to be fazed or show some kind of reaction to the words.

“I was _merely_ outlining our options in the event that you-”

“-I’m touched Gwaine.” Arthur admitted with a grin, sounding like himself for the first time in _weeks._ “ _Really_ I am. But now’s really not the time.” With that he gazed around the forest determinedly, grin transforming into a stern frown.

“Where are we going?” Lancelot asked, the first to voice the question everybody had been wondering.

“Camelot.” Arthur responded nonchalantly, scurrying through the supplies Gwaine and co had managed to salvage during their escape.

“We’ve just _escaped_ from Camelot, you mean to go _back?!”_ Morgana enquired in disbelief, folding her arms across her chest.

She failed to see _sense_ in his motives. He shot her an amused look, not bothering to elaborate on his words. _Obviously,_ they wouldn’t be going back to Camelot Base, which was pointless. It took a few moments for his _true intentions_ to be recognised. Morgana understood what he meant first, meeting his eyes severely. This was _risky._ Gwaine clicked it too and raised one hand in exasperation.

“ _Woah,_ easy.” He exclaimed. “Going back to _Camelot-_ Camelotis a suicide mission! We’ll never make it into the labs.” 

Arthur acknowledged Gwaine’s words. Yes, it was going to be difficult. He bet nobody back home even _knew_ the atrocities that were happening here. Nonetheless, they had to be careful. Breaking into the labs…that was not going to be easy, or taken lightly. But in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter how difficult it was, because this was _human beings_ they were talking about, people who _needed help._ People who had been neglected for _too long._

“These people have been locked up, _tortured_ merely because they have magic.” Arthur said, melancholy riming his eyes. “If I am _ever_ to set things right with the people of Albion, I need to prove that I truly care about their welfare.” Pause. “I’m going to do what I should’ve done years ago, with or without your help.”

“Count me in.” Lancelot said seconds after Arthur had finished.

Touched, Arthur smiled softly at his friend.

“Me too, there’s no cause I’d rather die for.” Leon’s voice resounded through his ears.

“We have _no chance.”_ Gwaine met Arthur’s eyes. “But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Morgana nodded, indicating she too was going to follow him into Camelot and attempt one of the most treacherous missions in the history of druid rights. Hoisting the bag of supplies over his back, Arthur turned to his friends with a warm smile.

“There’s no time to waste then.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay THIS is my favourite chapter so far. I spent a lot of time on this one, if you have fanmix, check out track 68 or youtube: "one day - hans zimmer" to play in the 2nd and 3rd scenes.
> 
> Big chappie guys,  
> Hope you enjoy
> 
> [This chapter contains TONNES of Old English/my own Druid dialect - translations at the end!]

 

Dawn had barely begun to seep over the dark horizon. Hundreds, _thousands_ of Druids were fast asleep on the soft earth; the grass cradled their traumatised minds, allowing them at least one peaceful night in the haven of Iaonem. For the first time in days, the Druids had started to _talk,_ to eat and converse with each other. Conversation was dull, _dreary_ and often plagued with the overwhelming notion of what had come to pass and what _would._ Nonetheless, it was a step in the right direction. Gwen hoped it would spark the resolute fire inside of their souls, like it had with her. If there was one thing that she had learnt, it was that the Druids were strong people. They were not so quick to give up and cast aside their faith. Even now, they were beginning to find themselves, slowly slip back into their own quaint characters.

Gwen’s eyes softly gazed over the people from the rock she was sat upon. She felt obliged to watch them, as Merlin had asked her to. Hunith was weary, and _needed_ rest; Will was stubborn and full of pessimism. His attitude would do the people no good at this moment in time. Therefore, Gwen had taken responsibility since Merlin’s departure, fiercely leading the people towards this temporary home. _Merlin._ Merlin had been gone for four days now. When she had a few minutes to herself, and was sure nobody was observing her, she would frown. She would bow her head solemnly and pray, pray that Merlin was _somewhere_ safe. She would pray that wherever he was and whatever his intentions that he wasn’t being _selfless_ or foolish. Merlin had proved time and time _just_ how far he would go for his people – she was certain if it came to it he _would_ die for them.

It _wouldn’t_ come to that, she had convinced herself of this. Merlin was _Emrys._ He had unfathomable power. It wasn’t a crime to lose your way in the hands of Destiny and Fate; it happened to everyone. But Merlin _was_ different; she smiled fondly. She _knew_ he would rediscover his power, his _grit-determination_ to do what was right. She didn’t understand _how_ she knew; yet she _did_ know that when it came to Merlin she never questioned her blinding belief in him. He always delivered, exceeding her expectations. Merlin _would_ return in time. And when he returned, she was confident the hope of the people would crash down upon them, that a mutual affirmation would hurtle through the Druids.

The golden flicker of sunlight traced the top of the hills to the East. A sigh escaped her lips. Once upon a time, the forests of Ealdor had dusted this horizon, reminding all of its brilliance. Now nothing but the Northern Valleys and other far less striking landscapes was all the eye could see. The Crystal Cave had gone, the whole settlement was gone...Arthur was gone, as was Gwaine. _Lancelot_ was gone. Oh, how she missed him. Brushing a hand over her watery eyes, Gwen inhaled a deep breath to try and keep herself composed. It was _all gone._ The past six months had been the best of her life. Not only had she found _love,_ she had found friendship and kindness. Despite what the other Druids thought, she acknowledged that Arthur Pendragon had not acted out of spite or maliciousness. He had acted out of completely _different_ emotions, emotions that skewed his perception of what was right and what was wrong.

He had irrationally wished that withholding information would in fact work in favour of Ealdor, and himself. He had been wrong. Yet Arthur never _intended_ to hurt Merlin, or the people. Gwen was sure this was true; she had _seen_ the blatant affection in his eyes, the way he had looked at Merlin that day. The day all of this chaos begun. Casting these thoughts aside, Gwen studied the vast landscape in awe. Iaonem was beautiful. The large white willow tree rivalled the majestic nature of the Ealden forests. The Iaonem tree was constantly a beacon of the West, a landmark of significance. It wasn’t the Crystal Cave, but it was all they had at this moment in time.

According to the ancient legends, in a time of sorrow and great suffering, Druids had assembled here for peace and refuge. It was here they healed their minds and bodies, here that they had forged a plan to take back what was rightfully theirs. Gwen wondered if any of the Druids remembered this story. A shadow from the corner of her eyes caught her attention. She turned abruptly to the spot, watching a young boy flinch and dive back into the shadows. For a moment she believed he had fled, and then she spotted him bashfully poke his head out and gaze silently at her. He had enigmatic golden-brown eyes, and a generous heap of russet hair. Freckles dusted his skin. Many of the Children didn’t speak, there was great concern that they had _forgotten_ how to or too shocked to comprehend simple actions. Smiling gently, Gwen reached out her hand towards the boy. Slowly he stumbled out of the shadows and cautiously moved towards her.

“Sit,” she gestured to the place beside her on the stone. Obediently, the child complied and nestled beside her. He leant into her touch immediately, clinging onto her for dear life. Gwen assumed that his child was one of the many who had lost their parents in the destruction. She drew her arm around him, offering him a kind look. “What’s your name?”

Shyly the child burrowed his burning cheeks into her clothes, his words muffled by the fabric. Nonetheless, she was able to hear his name.

“Calhoun, couldn’t you sleep?” the child  -Calhoun - shook his head in response silently, nuzzling closer into her side; his head was buried against her dress. Gently, Gwen ran a hand through his soft hair.

“We’ll be alright.” She cooed affectionately, unsure whether he would believe her or even _listen._ The Druids hadn’t exactly been the most responsive the past few days. Smoothing her fingers gently over his scalp, she rested her head on his. “An old friend once told me many months ago that no matter what we battles face, the Druids _always_ have managed to win.”

Gazing up at the woman blankly, Calhoun finally spoke in his small voice. He sounded _scared;_ this blatant fear angered Gwen.No child deserved to live in such fear, deserved to feel _so_ terrified to even enjoy their youth.

“…They’re _so_ strong.”

Gwen refused to acknowledge the statement. Grimacing, she studied the beautiful sunrise, small wisps of light emanating over the landscape. There was no denying that Camelot Enterprise was strong, it was ferocious. Camelot Enterprise had vast weaponry and missiles. It was armed heavily with supplies. Afraid that remaining silent would plunge the child into despair, Gwen quickly cleared her throat and turned to him.

“We are just as strong,” she stated, surprising the curious child. Her words ignited the fire inside her eyes. “In fact we are _stronger._ Do you want to know why?” the Child nodded his head instantly, _excitedly._ “Because we have each other. Strength is not measured by brute force; it is measured by _real_ courage and justice. For to have the _strength_ to do what is right,” she paused, stroking his face compassionately. “ _That_ is what divides us from Camelot.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both finding the love and comfort in each other that they desperately needed. The sun was peaking over the hills timidly, it’s amber glow illuminating Iaonem. The resulting effect was that a golden tint resonated from the earth, sprouting the buds of hope among the resting people. Gwen prayed that when they awoke, the buds would burst forth into marvellous colours, marvellous _things._ The People would be themselves again; the People would be _people_ again.

“…Merlin.” Calhoun whispered, breaking Gwen from her thoughts. “I miss Merlin.”

“Merlin will return.” She replied hastily, _confidently_ ; there was a spark of promise in her eyes.

“How do _you_ know?” he asked wearily, hugging her waist.

“…Do you doubt it?” She watched him shake his head instantly. Drawing him closer to her, Gwen beamed at the small boy in her arms. “That is why he will return” averting her eyes, she studied the sleeping People affectionately. “He’ll never abandon his people, people who _believe_ in him. He _will_ return and when he does…”

Gwen gazed back down to Calhoun to find he was fast asleep, his body slowly rising and falling to deep breaths. She felt her own fatigue wash over her body, pulling her into slumber. Recently, Gwen had not slept for many nights, grabbing a few hours wherever possible. Perhaps she ought to _try_ and sleep. There was nothing she could do for anybody right now. Lowering her voice, she sighed.

“ _When_ he does return, everything will change.”

**♦☼♦**

Léohte landed smoothly on the hill at Merlin’s command, having heard his call from miles away. Her delicate wings folded by her side, eyes latched upon her rider in glee. Studying the silver Wyvern in awe, Merlin reached out and stroked her scales affectionately. The Wyvern cooed in response, leaning closer to the touch. He continued to pet her whilst examining her wing. The tear was still there but as Gilli had predicted, she had become accustomed to the injury, taking it in her stride. It gave Merlin _great pleasure_ to be reunited with his old friend, knowing that she was safe. He was glad he had decided to leave her in Saerion – she would never have escaped the destruction of Ealdor. Very few Wyverns and their riders _had_ survived; Merlin frowned. So _many_ had died, druids and creatures alike.

The stench of death and trauma had plagued Albion. Even from here, in the Northern Valleys, Merlin could _feel_ that unmistakable twinge of pain, excruciating tug on his weakening magic. Everything was _gone,_ everything that _mattered_ was gone. Yet there was an ounce of hope embedded within him. Sure they couldn’t get it back, but they could make sure that nothing else deteriorated. Merlin remembered Arthur’s words from all those months ago; Camelot Enterprise intended to exploit their natural resources, to save the dying planet they had ruined. Gazing around the vast landscape, picturesque and bewildering, Merlin frowned.

He’d never ventured this far North before into the Valleys and almost uninhabitable territory. The whole landscape was hilly and jagged, large crevasses slashed into the earth were concealed by the disorientating platforms of land. Many who came here had fallen into the trenches, unable to discern their own distance from them. Hardly any clans settled this far North, the design of the sculpted land was steep and dangerous. But it was _perfect_ conditions for large creatures to dwell, such as a Dragon. An old druid song, aimed to encourage children to play away from the caves, once spoke of the legendary creature and how it supposedly rested here when not ruling the skies:

 _Ne Gamnian_ _ein eorðscræf_

 _Gamnain ein h_ _ërŕan_

_B_ _œ_ _e_ _, Dræɡən ein eorðscræf_

 _Ĥaie_ _néadunga_ _fretan!_

A trace of a smile dusted his lips at the memory of his mother singing this song to he and Will, reaching over to grab them at the end for added effect. It had _sure_ terrified them back then – even if Will was too stubborn to admit it. But the song _did_ have some truth, and it matched the Naiimen folklore of Albion. In the days of the Naiimen, the Dragons would seek refuge with their riders in the sacred Caves, devise plans and pass laws…even the _Crystal Caves_ had been used.Caves.The era of the Naiimen contained many ancient stories, stories that had been forgotten and put the rest for centuries – many were not even written in the Æmryš. In this time of darkness, Merlin could not help but fixate his memory onto a particular story Gaius had recited one night, when he was no more than ten years. The story had spoken of not just _one_ Crystal Cave, but _several._

Merlin continued to doubt the existence of other Caves; it was nothing more than a bedtime story, aimed to appease a child’s restless imagination. For thousands of years the druids had searched, but Ealdor had revealed to harbor the only one. What is that _wasn’t_ true, what if that was _why_ his magic was still breathing, still refusing to perish- no. Attempting to brush the words from his mind, they were _perilous_ words, words _he wanted to believe_ because he needed _something_ to keep him going, Merlin leapt onto Léohte’s back. Swiftly he steered the Wyvern down into the darkness. The further they descended, the darker their surroundings became. To Merlin’s astonishment, they had not yet reached the ground. Conjuring an orb of light, he _gasped_ at the sight before him, ordering Léohte to hover.

The distinctive druid symbols were carved into the stone. They appeared to be old, _ancient._ Merlin’s heart swelled in excitement, they fitted the description of _Naiimen_ markings. Nobody had ever _seen_ such extensive markings before; they had only been recorded briefly on a lost manuscript. Nobody really _knew_  that much at all about the Naiimen, or their majestic civilisation. Tales had been passed down through generations, but very little physical evidence remained. Reaching out curiously, he nudged Léohte closer to the stone. One particular symbol caught his eyes. It was an interesting combination of three helixes, bizarrely simple compared to the other symbols, but intriguing nonetheless:

 

An abrupt shuffling in the darkness cast his attention from the symbol and back to his whereabouts. Léohte wavered uncomfortably, emitting a groan. It was evident something had startled her. Swallowing-hard, Merlin caressed her coiled horns, hoping that doing so would too console himself. It didn’t, not at all. He _knew_ that sound. It was a menacing sound, he’d heard it once before. Another sound from the darkness sent Léohte nervously beating its wings and soaring back up towards the surface. Her movements were unexpected, and Merlin was unable to hold onto her. He fell off her back, watching her dive into the air whilst he plummeted further into the depths of the crevasse. Panic clouded his system. He had no idea where the bottom was, he could use magic to soften his fall but if it were too early or late – his landing would _not_ be so smooth.

He clamped his eyes shut. If he was going to die now, like this in the middle of nowhere, he may as well at least _try_ to cast his mind back to happy memories. One face haunted his mind, sapphire eyes and blonde hair. Merlin no longer was able to associate happiness with this face. Opening his eyes, he stared up at the small strip of blue sky; it was almost completely taken over by the stone around him. However, in the small strip of blue sky, some kind of _motion_ took him by surprise. His eyes were unable to focus on it, but the sound of the wind bending against the will of a Wyvern crashed through his ears. He landed with a thud on something scaly, something significantly bigger than expected. Without hesitation, Merlin gripped onto the horns. He found himself surprised once more when he established these horns were remarkably unlike Léohte’s.

The creature slowed its speed, landing at the bottom of the deep crevasse. As Merlin’s magic whispered a spell to aid his eyes, the creature came into focus. It was Bregurófne, Arthur’s Wyvern. Relief smothered him; he had feared Bregurófne was _dead._ Merlin glanced around the dismal, stone structure. There were some remnants of druid symbols. That wasn’t what caught his attention; hanging from the stone – a few meters above on each side – were cream statues. The statue was resplendent and foreboding; there was no question as to what it depicted, confirming Merlin’s suspicions. _Dragons._ This was once a Dragon haven, a vast underground network hailing tribute to the noble creatures.

Seconds later, Léohte landed gracefully beside them, she nuzzled Merlin’s hand – it was clearly a gesture of apology for allowing her fear to take hold. Léohte was much younger than Bregurófne; she still had much to learn. Dismounting Bregurófne, Merlin smiled softly at the two Wyverns beside him, incapable of hiding his fondness. They were _not_ going to like his next proposal.

“Heorðgeneats,” he whispered, beginning to walk down the infinite route the crevasse had laid out for them. “There is something I must do, I understand if you do not wish to follow me.”

He didn’t need to turn back around to know that the two Wyverns were following him loyally; he could feel their warm breath on his neck, their claws scraping the ground. The further they walked, the more frequent the statues became on the stone. Small embers of fire radiated in the mouths of the statues, creating an orange glow; there was no longer a need for his light source. The orb gently fizzled into oblivion, leaving the Merlin and the two creatures in a warm hue. After minutes of walking like this, in pensive silence and avid curiosity, they reached a small tear in the stone. It was thin and jagged, barely large enough to squeeze a human through. The final Dragon statue was situated beside it, revealing where it would lead. Bravely, Merlin turned to the Wyverns and offered them a small smile.

“Thank you for joining me this far,” He caringly leant over to them, noticing their concern. “But now I must complete this task alone.”

Léohte inched closer to Merlin, evidently confused by his statement and unwilling to leave his side. She whimpered, wings flapping in distress. Hushing her strangled cry, he soothingly placed a finger gently on her mouth. Instantly, the Wyvern hushed, bowing its head a little. Crouching over to meet her eyes, Merlin frowned. He had only just been reunited with Léohte, now he had to let her go again.

“It’ll be okay Léohte,” he forced a smile onto his face, to try and ease her conscience. Then he turned to Bregurófne with a fierce expression. “Fleogan uo Ionem, Fullmægen eist tĥaie.” Pausing he averted from the druid tongue. “I will meet you back there soon.”

With that Bregurófne, and a reluctant Léohte, took off into the air and flew up the stone crevasse towards the hilly landscape on the surface. Satisfied they were safe and out of harm’s reach, Merlin inhaled a deep breath and dived into the small pathway.

**♦☼♦**

To _enter_ the passage required stealth and agility. The narrow gap was _far_ smaller than it had looked, rocks stuck out menacingly, creating obstacles. The only way of passing through was sideways, even then the rocks dug into his skin, tugged his clothes. Slipping through, he was propelled into the next part of the tunnel. The gap was uncomfortable, causing him to hold his body in an awkward position, back arched backwards and torso pushed forwards. His arms dangled helplessly, one raised out and the other trapped in the same space as his torso. Panic and fear pelted him at once; he was _stuck._ Magic couldn’t help him here; these stones were ancient and old. One small rupture could cause the entire natural structure to fall. Gritting his teeth, Merlin squeezed in his muscles – a futile attempt to reduce his body size. Nothing. He tried again whilst tilting his body a little to the left- ah _yes._ He could feel a slight shift in the space around him. He repeated the motion, exhaling deeply. His back slowly had enough room to straighten. Using this to his advantage, Merlin twisted the rest of his body out.

The rest of the path ahead was significantly wider, to his relief. He gazed back at what he had just passed; flinching at just how _impossible_ it looked from here. There was _no way_ he was going to be able to make a rapid escape _that way_ if he needed to. From this distance, he could hear a low humming sound. The deep tone resonated through his entire body, creating a buzzing in his ears. Hand outstretched, Merlin continued forwards vigilantly. He _had_ to do this, to _prove_ that Emrys wasn’t a lost symbol; to prove to his _people_ that the end was not nearing. Albion’s golden age was going to begin, the _once and future._ Blinking back the tears that threatened to crush his demeanor, Merlin sighed. The Once and Future, oh how the Crystals had been so _wrong_ in their predictions.

He stepped out of the small pathway, into a large cave. The dim glow of magical torches on the exit allowed visibility. Merlin kind of wished it didn’t, because he wasn’t prepared for the sight before him. Perched on a large rock, majestic and mighty, sat the Dragon - the Dragon that had ambushed he and Arthur all those months ago. It was a _giant_ creature, larger than five of six Wyverns combined and bigger than he remembered. Its scales were golden-brown, flickering hypnotically in the dim light. The two wings were drawn into its side. Merlin noticed the length of the sharp talons attached to its feet. The Dragon’s eyes were shut, gesturing it was asleep. Merlin took the opportunity to walk closer.

“ _Kilgarrah.”_ He gasped, too overwhelmed to ensure he hadn’t spoken aloud.

Instantly, the eyes of the Dragon snapped open, revealing large ochre irises. Kilgarrah raised its posture and without warning unleashed a deafening roar which pushed Merlin to the ground. His ears rang, unable to cope with the strident noise. Then there was _fire_ spewing from its mouth, heading straight towards him. Holding out his palm, Merlin narrowed his eyes. The fire bounced off his hand, never reaching his body. The Dragon continued, intensifying its flamethrower. Still, Merlin held his ground, laughing at the absurdity of what was happening. _He_ was fighting a Dragon, he was _here_ with Kilgarrah. The moment the noble creature stopped its ineffective assault; Merlin met the eternal eyes with confidence. _Something_ inside him began to swell, building its way up to his throat and tearing through his organs. It viciously slashed past his magic, blazing his skin with newfound _power._ It smothered him completely. Merlin embraced the foreign feeling, surprised at the own ferocity of his voice as words spontaneously flew from his mouth.

“O Dræɡən!” his voice was deep and low, matching that of the Dragon’s. “Gehlystan min hleoðor,” extending a hand he took another step towards Kilgarrah. “Eald _broðor_.” At these words, Kilgarrah titled its head curiously. Gazing up at the creature, Merlin’s voice softened, becoming an airy whisper that graced the air. “Car grise _áþes_.”

The elongation of the ‘s’ was entrancing and oozed authority. Kilgarrah bowed its head towards Merlin submissively. Eyeing the Dragon before him, Merlin felt his lips twitch in amazement. His father was right. The Dragon was _listening to him –_ but he couldn’t lose focus. There was still _so much_ to be said, losing the attention of Kilgarrah now could sabotage everything. Continuing in the alien language, Merlin grimaced.

“Domdæg gretan.” Kilgarrah lifted its head in response, meeting those sad eyes. “Forðfor ac sceadu _awiergan_ Aęniän.” Memories of the Pendragon’s treachery flashed through his mind. It _angered_ him greatly, the ferocity deployed previously returned in his voice.

“Ætgædere Dræɡən, wé sculan _hælan_ úre ğelendë!” his voice echoed through the cave forcefully. “Íc behéfþ eower fullæst, _héahgesceaft._ ”

The sensation of exerting such power left Merlin’s body tingling, even his _magic_ felt revived and insatiable. He was a _Dragonlord!_ Boldly, he gazed up at the mighty Dragon. All he could do was wait for the creature’s response. Eventually, the Dragon spoke – _in English_ to Merlin’s surprise.

“How small you are Æmryš,” Kilgarrah mused, _chuckling_ of all things (Merlin did _not_ find any of this amusing at all, pretending not to shudder at the way the Dragon spoke his name in the language of the Old Religion; it sounded too formidable). “For such a great destiny.”

Destiny, restraining himself from rolling his eyes or signifying exasperation, Merlin stared back at Kilgarrah. All he had heard for _months_ was destiny this and destiny that. Right now, he couldn’t care less what _destiny_ supposedly had in store for him. What mattered was restoring faith in the people, uniting a fallen nation and standing up for justice. Kilgarrah appeared to have noticed the fierce determination protruding in the man’s eyes and spoke in a hushed, _wise_ tone.

“Albion has been gravely wronged, you were right to seek my council.”

Gazing around the cave, Merlin was incapable of hiding the small twinkle in his eye. Dragon’s were ancient creatures with profound knowledge; Merlin knew that. Kilgarrah being the last of his kind was a rare treasure, brimming with timeless words and wisdom. But Merlin didn’t _need_ the Dragon’s council; he needed the _Dragon._ Cautiously, he leant towards the large, scaly creature of old.

“ _Forgiefan_ mé,” he began in an almost _diffident_ voice, startling Kilgarrah with his words. The timidity faded almost instantly, mutating into a resolute hiss, because this was _important_. “Hăbban nic ingehygd œf þisne,” pause. Inhaling a ragged breath, he turned to the Dragon imploringly. “Fliógan eac mé.”

Now this _really_ did surprise Kilgarrah. Of course the Dragon knew the legends of old – he had _been there_ for many of the epic tales _._ The time long before the Naiimen, when an unsung hero stepped forth and tamed the first Dragon, he and the Dragon had flown across Albion as one; resurging hope within the Druid clans and giving them something to believe in as darkness threatened to consume the land. There was no _greater_ symbol of resolution and justice than the sight of a Dragonlord riding a Dragon. He knew what Merlin was asking of him.

“So you will fly with me?” the human druid asked hopefully, despite _knowing_ he could well _order_ the creature to do so in the Dragon tongue if he wanted. However, he wanted this to be a genuine agreement more than anything.

“Son of Balinor,” Merlin intensified his gaze at the name, subconsciously leaning closer to the Dragon. Moments passed before jugdement was made. “It would be an honour.” Kilgarrah replied, triggering an _elated_ smile. Merlin bought both his hands to his tousled dark hair. A shallow laugh escaped his lips in disbelief. The Dragon’s next words caught him off guard.

“But what of the young Pendragon?”

Biting his lip, Merlin turned away from Kilgarrah. The _name,_ the name that had ruined everything. Arthur – _was_ Arthur okay? No. _Remember_ what he did – _don’t_ pity him or even spare a thought for him. But it was too late. The name surrounded him, consumed him. He didn’t realise he was pacing back and forth until he spotted his shadow moving across the ground rather rapidly. Abruptly he came to a halt and turned to the Dragon, hoping he didn’t see the tears staining his eyes.

“He _betrayed_ us.”

Of all things, Merlin had hardly expected the Dragon to _laugh._ Narrowing his eyes, Merlin studied the creature curiously, awaiting some kind of explanation.

“That is not how I see this story,” Kilgarrah said wisely. “Arthur is your _other_ half (Merlin’s eyes darkened dangerously), your-”

“-He means _nothing_ to me.” Merlin’s broken, cracked voice suggested otherwise, barely sounding over the Dragon’s words. Kilgarrah stared pensively at the mighty warlock before continuing.

“To win this fight young warlock, you _need_ Arthur’s help-“

“-To win this fight, we need the other druid clans-” Merlin snapped bitterly, tension rising in his body.

“-You cannot win without the help of the Once and Future-”

“- _FORSUWUNG_!” Merlin roared viciously in the dragon tongue, instantly silencing the beast before him. Raising his hand towards Kilgarrah, he glowered menacingly. A gust of wind swirled around Merlin wildly, enshrouding him in an aura of power. His anger continued, voice loud and prevailing in the cave. “NÁWA MÆNAN Æ NAMA!”

Then the whirlwind dissipated, revealing Merlin’s tormented expression. The amber hue of the flames didn’t quite reach his cerulean eyes. Swallowing-hard, he lowered his hand and _pleadingly_ met the Dragon’s eyes, because Kilgarrah _had_ to understand that this was a complicated matter with devastating repercussions. Arthur Pendragon may well have been prophisised to be the Once and Future, but his actions hardly suggested this. Just _thinking_ about him was too much. Shaking his head, Merlin allowed a shallow sigh to escape his lips.

“ _Náwa_.”

Lifting his head, Kilgarrah sighed almost _knowingly._ Merlin heavily disliked it, the Dragon’s apparent omniscience and wisdom was unnerving. It were as if somehow, Kilgarrah _knew_ things. Not to mention the blinding belief the creature seemed to have in Arthur Pendragon despite his wrongdoings and great betrayal- that above all things concerned Merlin the most. There was silence for a few more minutes. Then the Dragon seemed to _frown,_ meeting the young man’s eyes.

“Very well young warlock, but in time you will see.”

With that, he bowed his head, allowing Merlin to hoist himself onto his back. Nothing, not even Kilgarrah’s warning to ‘hold on tight’, could have prepared him for what happened next. In a sudden instant, the majestic wings of the Dragon flapped from side to side, instigating the small stones on the ground to rise and coil in the air. A vociferous roar escaped Kilgarrah’s mouth; Merlin flinched and uttered a small spell for the safety for his ears in fear his eardrums may well spontaneously explode. Then his surroundings became nothing but a blur, the wind pelting against his face. Kilgarrah shot up into the air. They were out of the large crevasse in seconds, and into the sky within half a minute.

Merlin was _flying_ a Dragon, _the_ Dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Calhoun - Warrior  
> Heorðgeneats - Fellow Friends  
> Fleogan uo Ionem, Fullmægen eist tĥaie - Fly to Ionem, (Will's Wyvern) is there  
> Forsuwung - Enough  
> Náwa - Never
> 
> DRUID SONG: 
> 
> Ne Gamnian ein eorðscræf  
> Gamnain ein hërŕan  
> Bœe, Dræɡən ein eorðscræf  
> Ĥaie néadunga fretan! 
> 
> Do not play in the old caves,  
> play here where we can see ,  
> Because, Dragons live in the old caves,  
> And they will eat you up! 
> 
> DRAGONLORD SPEECH / DRAGON SCENE (**note this is DIFFERENT to the one used in 2x13, because Merlin is not asking the same thing of Kilgarrah, the context is completely different. I only used on phrase from the actual Merlin Script. So I spent a while researching and deciding what words would be best to use**). 
> 
> O Dræɡən! Gehlystan min hleoðor, eald broðor. Car grise áþes. Domdæg gretan. Forðfor ac sceadu awiergan Aęniän. ætgædere Dræɡən, wé sculan hælan úre ğelendë. Íc behéfþ eower fullæst, héahgesceaft.
> 
> Dragon! Listen to my voice, ancient brother. You will obey my command. Judgment day approaches. Death and darkness engulf Albion. Together Dragon, we must save our land. I need your help, noble creature. 
> 
> Forgiefan mé, Hăbban nic ingehygd œf þisne. Fliógan eac mé - Forgive me, I had no intention of this. Fly with me.
> 
> NÁWA MÆNAN Æ NAMA - Never mention that name again!


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to split this chapter into two parts mainly because:
> 
> 1- I haven't finished the next chapter!  
> 2- It's very long so could do with a little break in the middle.  
> 3- This whole sub-plot didn't REALLY exist two weeks ago (damn my mind and its sub-plots...), and now it does I want to make the most it it! 
> 
> A couple of graphics in this chapter, just a few things I made/edited (a pic of the 'crew' and an e-mail).
> 
> Hope you like this chapter. 
> 
> I probably won't be updating for a while as I'm mega-busy, but enjoy!
> 
> PS - There is a blatant reference to Arthurian Legend here, hope you like it ^^

 

  
\

**♦☼♦**

****

“So, what’s the plan?” a well-dressed Leon asked, sitting awkwardly in one of Arthur’s chairs.

Morgana, dressed in a sleek emerald dress and matching heels, was sat by the large coffee table of Arthur’s familiar apartment, watching the television screen feed lies and garbage. She felt a pang of anger when the ‘Albion Project’ was briefly mentioned, referred to as ‘a great energy expedition’. If only they _knew_ what was _really_ going on in Albion. This was no expedition; this was nothing but cruel and ruthless domination. Lancelot, wearing a chic grey suit, was engaged with the story. He picked apart their words meticulously. Every strand of this story was false; it had clearly been fabricated by PR to ensure morale was kept high (and to of course hide the hideous genocide). Meeting Morgana’s eyes, they shared a morose look.

Arthur adjusted the navy tie uncomfortably in the hallway mirror. A frown etched onto his face as he studied his appearance. He hadn’t worn a suit for a long time; he wondered how on earth he used to wear it _every day._ It was _so_ constricting and confining, even of a person’s personality. He hardly looked like himself at all. To think six months ago he had never even _really_ left this miserable, glum city. He had been _so_ narrow-minded, so intent on following every single order his father gave, so _quick_ to comply without thinking through the consequences. Leon coughed subtly, gesturing he _was_ expecting some kind of response from the blond man. Recollecting composure, Arthur turned to the curly-haired male. Ah.

“Plan,” he sat down beside Leon, chewing the word over as if it were new and unfamiliar. “ _What_ plan?” Leon’s expression morphed into one of disbelief.

“That’s a _great_ plan.” Gwaine chirped from the kitchen between a mouthful, muttering to himself something about how much he had missed Oreos and _real food._

“But there _is_ no plan.” Lancelot frowned, shooting Gwaine a look of disapproval when he shoved another biscuit into his mouth. Arthur realised perhaps his sarcastic comment had gone unnoticed and had been misinterpreted.

Getting onto his feet, Arthur took a seat at the round coffee table, gesturing for Leon and Gwaine to do the same. When they were all seated around the round table, Arthur began to talk.

“Word of our ‘treachery’ appears not to have left Albion yet.” He explained calmly. “I’m going to arrange a conference in headquarters, explaining that my father has fallen ill. Due to his sickness, I have now been put in charge of the project. I’ll tell them on my father’s behalf we _must_ let the druid people go-”

“-Arthur that’s _insane.”_ Morgana snapped, leaning across the table lividly. “Have you _forgotten_ about Aredian, Aggravaine; _Cenred_? They’ll see right _through_ your lie-”

“-Too late,” Arthur absently interrupted. “I’ve already arranged the meeting for this afternoon. _Besides,_ we can’t just waltz into the labs and start freeing the druids Morgana.” Arthur groaned. “There are people in charge, like Aredian, who could _easily_ sabotage the whole plan. If I have them all in _one_ room, success will be far more likely.”

“Even if it did work,” Leon supplied calculatedly, having a little more faith in Arthur. “It would take _weeks_ for such a negotiation to be passed.”

“Who said anything about a negotiation?” Arthur interjected. Silence, pleasant _surprise._ “I’ll tell them it’s the only way the druids will allow for us to mine for oil in their land.” He replied. “We are desperate to meet our quarter, to fulfil our duty to our consumers. The board will do anything for the profit,” he smiled despondently. “Camelot has always been driven by greed.” Pause. Arthur’s smile became more genuine. “Once the signatories have signed the agreement, I will email the document to every Camelot Enterprise H.Q, thus passing a new business decree-”

“-which is?” Gwaine asked curiously.

“The Druid Appeasement Act: abolishment of all labs as of immediate effect.” Arthur pulled out a piece of paper from the folder on the table, holding it up in the air. Morgana studied the document, grinning at its authentic nature.

“Did _you_ make this?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Arthur snatched the document back off her. “I _have_ done this before you know. Just for different matters. _Anyway,”_ he placed it carefully back into the folder, afriad her molesting would damage it. “ _Whilst_ I am appeasing the board, you will be in the lab, freeing the druids. I know this will take some time. Morgana, if you disable the alarms and round up the teleporting devices. Leon, you try and console the druids, let them know they have nothing to fear from us. Lancelot and Gwaine, you help usher the druids out. Some may be able to teleport back with magic, but others may be incredibly weak and will need assistance.” It was evident that Arthur wanted to try and stall his visit to the labs. He dreaded seeing what he had refused to concede all these years. Swallowing-hard, he stood up, folder in his hands.

“The meeting begins in one hour and will finish at three. Once the meeting is over, I will go to my former office and dispatch the e-mail. When I have done that, I will meet you in the lab, and we will head back to Albion. Does everyone understand the plan?”

The four figures nodded in response, all rising from their chairs. Reaching for the keys on the kitchen side, Arthur felt a pang of excitement consume him. All his life he’d done as he was _told,_ now he was breaking out and doing _the right thing._ And to top it all off, he was going to be able to drive his C.E. 2000 one last time. Abruptly, Morgana grabbed the keys from Arthur’s hands. He shot her a bemused glance before failing to repossess them.

“I need my _keys_ Morgana.” Arthur snapped after trying to reach for them again. Jingling them in the air tauntingly, she smirked.

“Arthur you’ve been living with the druids for over five months now,” Her tone was almost mocking, _smug._ “There’s no way _you’re_ driving.” Pause. Arthur held a hand to the bridge of his nose in exasperation, knowing exactly what she was going to pull out the bag and weave into a cunning ploy. “Besides, you owe me. _Big time.”_

Rolling his eyes, because none of his arguments would sound valid against ‘you lied to me about my magic and my family’, Arthur stormed out the front door. Grinning in delight, Morgana pressed one of the buttons, opening the flashy black car. Leon made his way towards the range rover parked behind it, Gwaine and Lancelot following him. Hovering by the passenger door, Arthur glanced back at his three friends. He considered confirming they were happy with the plan, but established discussing top-secret agendas (this time in the _favour_ of the druids) in the middle of the street was not a good idea. Many people here would still sell their soul to out Druidians and Druids for the handsome reward. His friends offered him confident smiles in return to his concerned gaze. With that Arthur got into his beloved convertible, buckled up hastily. He groaned when Morgana elaborately revved the engine. One growl later, and they sped off down the road. If somebody said that Arthur had shrieked of all things in surprise at Morgana’s outrageous driving – well that wouldn’t exactly be an exaggeration.

Clutching the handle tightly, Arthur scowled in the direction of his sister. She appeared to feel his gaze upon her.

“Calm down Arthur,” she cooed. “We’re almost there.”

“I don’t _doubt that_!” He exclaimed gruffly, gesturing towards her obscene driving. “We’re not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves-”

“- _Please.”_ Morgana interjected with a fond smile. “You always used to drive like this to work, don’t even pretend you didn’t.”

To his dismay, Arthur realised that yes – he did indeed used to drive like a raving lunatic to Camelot Enterprise. Morgana wasn’t going to slow down; he guessed her excuse would be ‘keeping in character’ and ‘revenge’. Sighing, he turned to the folder in his lap, skimming over the document for the hundredth time. This Appeasement Act, yes completely fake and created by Arthur Pendragon alone, had to be faultless. If one thing was wrong, Aredian would notice and refuse to sign, and Arthur _really_ didn’t want to have to use some kind of force to get the tyrants at the top to co-operate. Swallowing-hard, he closed the folder back up, feeling a little nauseous. He wanted more than anything to blame it on Morgana’s driving, but he knew it wasn’t that at all. Humorous thoughts aside, Arthur found himself truly _nervous._ He hadn’t been in this corporal environment for some time. Luckily nobody here _knew_ the true events that had come to pass in Albion.

“Arthur.” Morgana said, casting him back into reality. Her eyes were locked on the road; nonetheless Arthur detected a softness to them. “Why don’t you talk me through your presentation?”

They used to do this a lot, before the Albion Project. Uther usually sporadically decided many times that Arthur was going to deliver presentations and pitches – sometimes even _hours_ before the event! Morgana was a critical ear, who not only understood the business but also understood Arthur. She’d spent many hours helping him perfect presentations the night before.

“Well,” anxiously rummaging through his notes, Arthur put on his chunky navy glasses. Despite knowing a spell that could enhance his eyesight temporarily, he felt far more accustomed to using them. “I’m going to start with delivering some figures on Druid Captivity and then reveal both the benefits and drawbacks of magical extraction-”

“-Why would you-” before Morgana could interrupt fiercely, he continued.

“-I _need_ to make this look believable Morg. Six months ago I didn’t really _have_ a view on magical extraction. They won’t expect anything to change. Anyway, after I’ve done that, I will explain this negotiation my _father_ has made with the druids-”

“-You know many of them won’t just take your word that Uther has agreed to this.”

“-How could you have _forgotten_ about father already?” Arthur said mischievously, fiddling with his glasses. “He is suffering extensively from Fruten bites and illness, thus putting me in charge of the project.” It was a big bluff, but Arthur _knew_ it could work. Uther was too consumed in dominating Albion to actually consider checking-up on Camelot HQ. Shuffling the paper in his hands, Arthur cleared his throat. “Then I will go on to compare our current sales quota without magical extraction – which is _well above_ the competitors anyway – against _predicted_ sales without magical extraction but _with_ Albion-Oil.”

Stopping at the traffic lights, Morgana spared him a pensive look.

“You’ve really thought this through.” She admitted, seemingly impressed with his proposal.

Putting the notes away into the folder, Arthur sighed in relief at her words. He had only had twenty-four hours to prepare the ‘legal document, write the presentation, arrange the meeting, come up with a _story_ and compile the figures. It was _definitely_ the most difficult deadline he’d ever faced. He _hoped_ it would be enough. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change what they were going to do. Either way, Arthur refused to leave without the druid captives. As the lights turned green, the car leapt back into action. Camelot Enterprise was right in front of them now, _seconds_ away. Flashing his ID card to the security guard, Arthur stepped out of the car and spared Leon a quick glance. _Shit._ He’d forgotten Uther still had their ID cards! The guard scanned the card briefly before smiling warmly.

“Welcome back Sir.” She said courteously, flushing a little at his presence. “I hope the project is going well.” As she handed him back the card, Arthur spotted her bashfulness and decided to use it _totally_ to his advantage.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose any information about the project as of _yet_ ,” he replied smoothly. “But you’ll be the first to know.” Winking for good measure, Arthur widened his smile when the woman ducked her head. He could _feel_ Morgana’s intense, scornful eyes latched onto his back. That didn’t stop him from continuing.

“Listen, I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could have some temporary passes for my colleagues?” he asked, casually leaning against the security booth, displaying his dazzling white teeth in the most charming manner he could. “Kind of had to rush back here from Albion…” he feigned a laugh and scratched the back of his head. “…ID cards weren’t exactly the _first thing_ on our minds.”

The woman laughed in response light-heartedly.

“Of course it’s _no problem_.” Swiftly she turned away to fill out the necessary form. Arthur took this chance to grin complacently over at an apathetic Morgana. “Here you go.” Spinning back around, Arthur took the cards from her hands.

“Thank you.” He said sincerely, meeting her eyes for a moment; she was unable to sustain the eye contact, clearly a bit enamoured.

If _Merlin_ were here Arthur was sure he’d be guffawing – Arthur flinched at the thought, pushing Merlin to the back of his mind. He’d have to deal with that vast issue later. Walking up to the range rover, Arthur passed the temporary passes through the window to Leon. Then he jumped back into the car with Morgana, tossing her the final card absently. Steering the car into the nearest parking space, she held the card in her palm against the wheel.

“Don’t forget Arthur,” she turned off the engine, unbuckling her seatbelt. She made no move to get out the car. “There are many in the board room who _will_ support you. Not all of them are as narrow-minded as Uther, many were friends of Gaius and wish nothing more than to see his swift release.”

Gaius. _Oh_. Arthur felt a pang of guilt flush over his body. _Shit._ Was the poor man even alive? Merlin hadn’t exactly censored his description of the labs – his depiction of them was horrific. But even then, Arthur _knew_ he had been holding back. Deep below the foundations of Camelot Enterprise, Arthur was going to have to enter the dark core. He was going to have to face his demons and _accept_ liability. He didn’t want to. Part of him was terrified. The druids here didn’t _know_ him, understand what he’d been through. What if they were angry, and instead of heading back to Albion unleashed chaos upon Camelot? Panic clouded his system and Morgana realised she’d probably said the completely wrong thing.

“It’ll be _fine_ Arthur.” She whispered, reaching over to clasp one of his hands.

Exhaling deeply, he leant his head against the back of the seat. A few seconds passed like this. Then abruptly, Arthur opened the door and stepped outside. The five of them strode towards the grandeur entrance of the Headquarters. As they reached the main door, Arthur swiped his card. The moment they entered the large, majestic hall, they all parted their separate ways, discretely blending into the business environment.

Arthur didn’t spare a glance for the towering statue of his father in the centre of the room, unfazed as he walked through the shadow it had cast over him all these years.

**♦☼♦**

“Gentlemen,” Arthur greeted promptly as he entered the room, a façade of confidence drenching his aura.

The façade slipped slightly when he gazed over to the board. Instantly the eleven _very important_ people sat around the table began exchanging brief pleasantries with the young blonde man as he set-up the screen at the front. Some seemed _genuine,_ others not so. Aredian hadn’t said a word, staring curiously at Arthur as if were going to spontaneously turn into a frog or something of similar absurdity. Opening the presentation, Arthur clasped his hands together and delved into his introduction. If his hands were clammy and shaking when they met, well he did his best to ignore it.

“I trust you all received my email,” glancing around he saw many members nod. “Therefore, it should come as no surprise as to why I have returned-” Arthur was not surprised to hear someone interject his words.

“-How _is_ your father?” Aredian asked, false sympathy overflowing in his tone.

“He is in good hands.” Arthur firmly responded, not cowering away from eye contact with the older man. He didn’t fear Aredian. The man stroked his chin, gazing at Arthur with intensified concern (all an act of course).

“What exactly is his diagnosis?”

Lifting his head assertively, Arthur paced around the table towards him and pressed a hand into his shoulder.

“A severe fever induced by the climatic shift of Albion, not uncommon. I’m _honestly_ not the person to ask though when it comes to all this druid-lark, perhaps take the matter up with Leon.” a few members chuckled; Arthur coughed, gesturing it was time to move on. He suppressed the twitching of his lips when he noticed Aredian’s surprised expression. Moving back to the centre of the table, Arthur continued the delivery of his speech.

“Let us have a look at Magical Extraction. It is not lie that the Magical Extraction programme has had vast benefits for Camelot Enterprise.” He wasn’t sure how convincing his last sentence sounded, it had been _more_ than difficult to say _that_ of all things – it was such a blatant lie questioning human ethics and morals. A few members of the board – evidently old fashioned in their ways – seemed displeased with his statement. “Magic is a renewable source of energy.” He added, waving his hand in the air vaguely. “It’s clean, _in fact_ it’s 80% more efficient than any non-renewable or renewable source the human race has ever encountered.” Pause. “ _But._ One thing I have come to learnt is that magic is _dangerous._ It can infect your mind, poison your soul. Above _all of this,_ Camelot Enterprise never considered whether it was actually _right_ to take it from the Druids.”

**♦☼♦**

Morgana entered the control room, smiling at the two men sitting on their seats. Adjusting her earpiece, she shut the door behind her smoothly and turned to the two men.

“Why don’t you take a break guys?” she asked sweetly, perching down on the free seat, knowing how scarce breaks usually were around here. Their eyes lit up in disbelief and hope. “I’ll handle this for a while.”

The moment the guards left the room, her eyes flashed gold and the door locked itself swiftly. Her attention turned back to the large desk in front of her, full of small TV monitors and a plethora of buttons. Her eyes scanned the dashboard for the laboratory panel. No sign of it yet. Glancing up to the TV screens, she spotted Gwaine, Lancelot and Leon in the top corner.

“Leon, I can see you guys on screen, cough if you can hear my voice.” she said down the earpiece whilst searching for the button. In response Leon cupped his mouth and coughed. Morgana continued speaking. “Okay, I’m just trying to locate the security panel for the Laboratories.”

Subtly, Gwaine pressed his finger on the small microphone attached to his velvet shirt.

“All systems are labelled in by their location, not by name.” he supplied helpfully, voice trailing off quickly as people began to approach the three of them. Leon pulled out a sheet of paper promptly, turning to Lancelot with false sincerity.

“I think it’s _here_ we need to go…” he mused as the office workers walked past, clearly amused that they were lost in the building. The moment the workers were out of sight, he resumed to normal.

Location...Morgana found the appropriate panel and studied the numerous buttons. She thought back to Arthur’s clear instructions on disabling the alarms. Slowly, her fingers hovered over three switches on the side of the panel. She clicked the first one triggering something on one of the screens. Sliding towards the keypad she began typing words, Uther really should have thought about whether it was good idea trusting her with the passwords and admin. But back then she’d been no true threat. Each button slowly lost its glow on the panel in front of her.

“I’ve disabled the alarms and issued Code 25. The Lab workers should be filing out any minute now,” she explained down the earpiece, watching in satisfaction as several people in long, white coats trailed past the screen to her right. Her eyes flickered towards the left where Leon, Lance and Gwaine were. She noticed Gwaine was about to leap into action. “Wait until I give you the all clear.” She added, twisting back to look at the right-hand side. A final worker scurried out of the labs, following the trail of his colleagues.

“ _Clear.”_

With that the three men left her screen, no doubt entering the lab. Morgana stood up briskly, ensuring to secure the control panel with the Delta Key Password, one hardly _any_ members of Camelot Enterprise knew at all. Grinning she unlocked the door, rather _riskily_ with magic, and walked down the bland, white corridor towards the Logistics department. To her memory it would have been quicker to turn left. However, Arthur been adamant in her turning _right_ as this would take her past the conference room. Going past the meeting would act as a marker point for Arthur, letting him know exactly where they were with the plan and how much time he had left.

**♦☼♦**

“But they are _Druids.”_ Aggravaine chided from the corner. Arthur suppressed a snarl; _I’m a druid._ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Morgana walk past the meeting room. He failed to acknowledge her, not wanting to give anything away or to take his attention from the meeting.

“Druids or not, they are _human beings_. It has taken us _too long_ to see that, and we have treated these people poorly and with little respect.” Raking a hand through his hand he turned to the next slide of his presentation, noticing a few men smile in agreement. “For many centuries, magic _was_ used to help civilisations flourish. The Druids were happy to live among us and trade their skills for our technology. We have broken that trusted circle of peace, and realistically it can never be restored.” _Never_ was an understatement – Uther had destroyed the Crystal Cave, killed thousands of innocent people.

“The only way forward now is to extract the oil from Albion,” he pressed the next slide. A few people gasped at the chart. “Just 17% of this untouched reserve would meet supply and demand for hundreds of years to come.” Not that they would _ever_ get their hands on it, Arthur thought darkly. These resources belonged to the druids, to do with as they wished. “My father has been negotiating with the Druids-“

“-I thought you said Uther was-” Cenred began pedantically. Sharply, Arthur spoke over his words. It was about time the third annoying nuisance would try and sabotage his plan.

“- _Before_ he had fallen ill. We have been in Albion for many months now, trying to come up with a fair agreement to mine for oil in their land-”

“-Forgive me for sounding crude Arthur,” Aggravaine said, sounding anything but apologetic. “But the Druids are hardly a sophisticated race, they probably don’t _understand_ our intentions. If we were just to take the oil, surely it wouldn’t make that much of a difference, it’s been done before-”

A few members began to argue against this point rather fiercely, some pointed at Aggravaine in an accusatory manner. Arthur had to restrain himself from joining in on their outburst.

“-Yes and it has caused war time and _time_ again!” one yelled furiously, clearly making reference to the wars in the twenty-first century.

“Do not disgrace the name of Camelot Enterprise in such a way!” another added.

Holding a hand in the air with authority, Arthur commanded silence from the group.

“Gentlemen,” He said sternly in the newfound, yet tense, silence. “I have not travelled all this way to witness petty arguments among great men. I have come here to discuss the agreement made with the druids, and to pass the Act here today.” He clicked onto the next slide, and then fiddled with the folder on the desk to reveal the ‘legal’ document.

“In order to mine in Albion, we must terminate the Magical Extraction Programme-”

“-But as you said earlier it is _80%_ more efficient, if we could _harness_ this resource properly-“

“-It is not a resource.” Arthur snapped, unaware he had raised his voice. “it is inhumane and must be abolished if this business is ever going to move forwards. My father and I have drawn up this new Act to not only allow sustainable mining, but to protect the Druids and ensure that they will be able to live in peace once again.” Aredian twisted his lips at the prospect, clearly discontented with the idea.

“Since when has appeasement gotten people anywhere?” he sneered.

One of the oldest members, sitting opposite Aredian (the name escaped Arthur’s memory), laughed at the comment.

“It is far better than unjust oppression and discrimination.” That shut Aredian up, to Arthur’s relief.

“Only four signatures are required to pass this Act.” Arthur explained, turning to the next slide. “The main terms of the Druid Appeasement Act are the abolishment of Camelot Laboratories and termination of the Magical Extraction Programme, as of _immediate_ effect.” Pause.

“Who will sign?” 


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter contains scenes that may be disturbing. Includes hints of torture and violence.
> 
> This is a big journey guys, not going to be a pleasant chapter. But Arthur has to face his demons, and we should be good friends and face them with him!
> 
> Hope you - I can't say enjoy, so... - hope you feel?

The lab was hauntingly silent. The hypnotic and bland corridors were like a maze, endless and full of misleading dead-ends. None of them had _ever_ been down here before. It was totally new, and terrifying. Gwaine admired Merlin’s courage for sneaking down and attempting to rescue Gaius all those years ago. He noticed to his dismay that each door had a number, not names, numbers. The Druids had been completely neglected. Lance and Leon seemed to feel uneasy here also. Swallowing-hard, Leon darted towards the stack of folders files on the side of the wall. He didn’t make it past page one of the first one, clasping a hand to his mouth in complete _disgust._

“I don’t think we’re going to like what we find down here.” He admitted bitterly, shoving the folder back into the compartment.  “Lance, we’ll start down this end. Gwaine,” turning to the rugged man, he smiled softly. “Start freeing the druids the other side, we’ll meet back here to transport them home. _Be careful.”_

The group divided their separate ways. Gwaine made his way to the far end of this wing. The sound of screaming and moaning – clearly induced by pain – caught his attention. Then he realised that _every single_ room was littered with the same noise. Bravely, he walked up to the furthest door. Grabbing the doorknob he swung it open.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight ahead of him.

The room was small, with bright intense lighting. A cupboard was in the right-hand corner, clearly full of sinister tools. In the middle of the room, a woman was strapped to the table. She was no more than thirty. Her brown eyes were wide and vacant, hair shaven from her head. Her overall appearance suggested fear and immense trauma. Morgana had disabled the metallic binds that held the druids down. However the woman didn’t seem to notice, or care. She lay there motionless, staring up at the ceiling as if she hoped it would topple and crush her before Camelot did. It was a heart-breaking sight.

Gradually, Gwaine made his way towards her side. She made no move to greet him, eyes locked onto the same spot. He reached out to aid her, and that sprung her into sudden, horrific action. Tears streamed from her eyes and she began to shudder. Muttering left her lips that became full sentences in the druid tongue.

“Helofor, helofor.” She wailed in despair, collapsing into his arms. “ _Helofor.”_ Gwaine didn’t know _much_ of the Druid language, but this particular word he had heard far too often recently. Gone, _gone,_ gone; it’s all gone. _All gone._ Helping her to her feet, he gently stroked her swollen skin.

“Shh,” he cooed gently over her rambling, trying to remained composed. The experience was overwhelming. “What’s your name?”

“…Blóstma.” She hesitantly responded between her quiet mumbles.

“Blóstma,” Gwaine whispered kindly. “You’re safe now. We’re going back to Albion.”

Recongising the word, she lifted her face towards him questioningly. She stopped weeping, eyes wide and far too impassive for a human being.

“You….you’re not taking me to the extractor?” she hissed, voice laced in fear and confusion. Gwaine didn’t _want_ to know what the fuck the ‘extractor’ was; even the sound of it was evil. If her reaction to the word was anything to go by, it wasn’t good. It seemed Camelot had been keeping a lot of dirty secrets. Steering her towards the door, she found her footing surprisingly well, Gwaine sighed.

“Of course not, we’re taking you home.”

**♦☼♦**

“I will sign it,” One of the older members volunteered, standing from his seat, causing a smile to break over Arthur’s face. “This Act will earn Camelot great respect, and give Druids their freedom-”

“-The Druids don’t _deserve_ freedom.” Aredian spat. “For centuries they have been ungrateful of the hospitality the human race has offered, manipulating the economy and enchanting people for their own benefit-”

“-If you are referring to the Great Depression of 2067,” Arthur said in a calm collected voice, stunning a few members with his knowledge. “Might I remind you that the Druid responsible was heavily discriminated against. His home had been taken from him; he’d lost his job simply because of his race. And also,” he recited assertively; he’d read all about this case when he was younger. “The Druid actually was intending _to help_. Unfortunately, he predicted the wrong outcome, just like a normal human being would. Druids never act out of spite, they are kind and compassionate people.” Pause. “Perhaps you should keep your opinions to yourself, and think about the bigger picture here,” Turning away from Aredian; Arthur addressed the whole board confidently. “The future of Camelot depends on this expedition for oil. Failure of the Albion Project would have _significant_ consequences to the _status_ of this business. If you _care_ about Camelot Enterprise, I urge you to sign this Act.”

Silence. Swallowing-hard, Arthur tried to maintain composure. He’d delivered his presentation. He could only hope at _least_ two board members would come forward and sign. For a moment nobody made any movement, watching Arthur Pendragon in front of them. Pulling his chunky glasses off his face, Arthur frowned.

“That is all I have to say,” people made a move to pack away their documents and notes. “May I just end on one final note.” The rustling stopped abruptly. “I cannot _make_ you sign this Act. I can merely offer reasons why this is a valid agreement to sign. Leave now if you wish, but know that you will leave with a guilty conscience, and the blood of many innocent lives will be on your hands.” Wiping his glasses over his white shirt, Arthur quickly pushed them back up onto his nose. “My father and I have spent many months negotiating with the Druids for the sake of this business. Do not let his efforts for a peaceful extraction be for nothing.” 

Of course this was a lie, his father had not strived for peaceful extraction at all. Yet the only way forward for the business was through an ethic of peace and co-operation. Arthur may well have _left_ Camelot, but he wasn’t going to completely dissolve the great company either. He hoped leaving this way would offer hope for the future. Not only for the business, but also for Camelot. Aggravaine hastily exited the room, followed by Cenred. That didn’t surprise him. But Arthur was honestly surprised to see Aredian standing beside him, pen in hand.

“I have been at Camelot my whole life,” The man admitted. “I do not want to see it fall due to such practices.” Studying Aredian intriguingly, Arthur met his eyes. “Where do I sign?” he asked petulantly, small reading glasses framing his eyes.

Snapping out of his daze, Arthur pointed silently towards the bottom of the document. Half an hour later, Arthur discovered he didn’t have four signatures on the document – he had _seven._ It was definitely enough to pass the act. He left the room, suppressing the burst of laughter in his chest and letting it slip out when he entered his old office. He had _succeeded._ The Druids would forever be free from Camelot oppression.

**♦☼♦**

At first, Arthur had chosen to stick with denial, because denial was _such_ an old friend of his. He knew it would always be there for him when he needed it. Denial had hovered over him the past six months, weaving its way into everything he did, everything he _said._ Denial wouldn’t judge him; it wouldn’t remind him of his wrongdoings, if _anything_ it would make him forget them. Right now, it was consoling him. They weren’t going into the labs; they were merely entering a part of Camelot Enterprise that Arthur hadn’t know _much_ about. It wasn’t _his_ fault any of this had come to pass. But Denial’s arguments proved futile; weak. And as Arthur told it to go away, it had the _audacity_ to deny it’s own presence (which was completely _ridiculous)_.

He sought out Fear instead, who delightedly slithered over towards him, ensuring to startle him with its dramatic entrance for good measure. Fear snaked around his body, holding him tightly. It hissed in his ear _terrible_ words. It triggered tremors in his body. It had been hard to shake off Fear, and leave it stranded in the corner to latch onto the next unsuspecting human. Eventually it left his side, crawling back into the dark shadows.

Guilt took its chances, smothering his skin for a few seconds. _It’s your fault._ When thrown off his shoulder, it skulked away and began to sulk. Then Sorrow bounded towards him in a fit of tears, crashing clumsily into his side. It’s skin was cold, it’s presence so overwhelming _sad_ that Arthur honestly felt like he too was on the verge of tears. But honestly - how were tears going to help him now? Sensing the change in Arthur’s thoughts, Regret _regretfully_ shoved Sorrow out the way and walked passively beside him. Oh the _regret_ he felt, if only he could have done something different. Anger manifested itself, hauling Regret with ferocity across the corridor. This merely upset Sorrow further, and Guilt turned to Anger reproachfully.

_Enough._ The chaotic eruption of emotions scuttled away, leaving Arthur standing at the entrance to the laboratory. Arthur realised at that moment that there was really _no_ emotion he could possibly _feel_ here. He would have to face it all now. A hand brushed his shoulder. Turning, he met Morgana’s neutral expression.

“I’ve got the teleport devices,” She explained, gesturing to a large bag hoisted over her shoulder.

Nodding, Arthur swallowed-hard and pushed to the laboratory open. No words could describe the sight before him. Leon was rounding up malnourished, skinny, hairless people all dressed in simply robes. Many of them arched over, spines clearly damaged. Many had severe injuries or bruising to their _pale,_ sickly skin. Some were hauntingly silent, some were weeping, some were mumbling to themselves. They barely looked like _people_ any more. There were a variety of ages, some young adolescents, others aged and weary. Some were just strong enough to use magic, disappearing from sight and no doubt returning to their homes and families.

However, a vast majority was not able to perform this simple spell. Lancelot stumbled round the corner, the thin arm of a man draped over his shoulders. Gwaine wasn’t in sight, clearly working on the other side of the ward. All at once, the Druids turned their attention to him. Their wide expressionless eyes stared at him. He could _feel_ their emotions, the sudden swell of hatred. He didn’t blame them one bit. They had all suffered immensely, and it was all his doing.

Despite their apparent loathing, they made no move to attack. Either they were too weak, or stood to the old Druid principles honourably. One druid, barely a man, stared at him blankly.

_Arfuera,_ he whispered in Arthur’s head. _Hwý?_

Arthur translated the simple word: Why. For a moment he gazed back at the man, unable to react when he fell to the ground. Lancelot knelt beside the young teenager, checking for a pulse frantically. Arthur couldn’t _deal with_ the look of utter sadness Lance conveyed when he found no trace of a pulse. Blinking back tears, Arthur watched as they all suddenly turned away from him, resuming their own company. Morgana held a hand to her mouth, rushing forwards to one of the Druids whose knees buckled. Sympathetically, she lifted the man to his feet. Arthur remained motionless for one more moment, stunned and appalled by what he was witnessing. How could all of this been happening everyday underneath the corporate culture? How could people who _knew_ about this live with themselves everyday?

“One person left,” A voice called.

The dead Druid on the floor was hauled in Lancelot’s arms. This was so fucking wrong, because that kid was younger than _Arthur_ was and didn’t deserve to die this way. This was genocide, cruelty matching the despicable acts of humanity in the past. How did the kid get caught? _Who_ had turned him in? Did the people _actually know_ what would happen to him? Arthur shuddered because something told him they _did_ know. Holding a hand to his throbbing temple, he stared blankly at the hundreds of Druids flocking towards Leon and Lancelot, clearly desiring comfort, _love_ and basic human kindness that they had been completely stripped of.

“We can’t leave him _here_ of all places, I will take him back to Albion where he can rest in peace.” He heard Lancelot say to Leon.

As he opened his teleporting device, Druids muttered their condolences to the lost soul. Arthur watched morbidly, wondering how many Druids had died in this foul place. _Arthur…_ Arthur? Stroking his necklace, Arthur grimaced. Someone was _calling_ him. _Arthur._ Mother? No. _Merlin –_ never. Arthur-

“- _Arthur!”_ Gwaine’s voice broke him out of the trance. The rugged man appeared from round the corner, complexion pallid and face severe. “I need your help.”

Arthur knew who it was. There was _no question_ about it. He knew there was one final Druid left to save. He spared one final look to Morgana who was spilling tears from her eyes whilst distributing teleporting devices to the crowd of thin hands. Then reluctantly he trudged forwards and followed Gwaine down the hallway. He _knew_ whatever was behind that red door was his fault. All those months ago, he and Morgana had stormed into Uther’s office, Arthur had demanded – not to Morgana’s knowledge- that Gaius was _at least_ granted a fair trail. There was nothing he could do. Gaius had been taken away, _six months ago._ All this time, he had been down here _suffering._

The pair of them reached the final door, it was the only one left unopened. Gwaine cast Arthur a dejected look, about to step forwards and open it. Abruptly, Arthur clutched the door handle and shot his friend an intense look, praying Gwaine would _understand._

“Wait here.” He commanded; his voice was too brittle to sound like a convincing order.

Nonetheless, because Gwaine _understood_ Arthur – almost as much as Morgana did, or M- he made no motion of following the blonde. He didn’t make Arthur explain, because that much was obvious. Instead he sighed, patting his old friend on the back supportively. With that, Arthur clutched the doorknob and stepped inside to face the consequences of his father’s actions, the result of his own negligence; his worst fear.

Gaius.

Gaius _hardly_ looked like Gaius. He had the minor injuries of many of the other druids. Bruising blackened his arms, his shoulders. The left side of his crippled arm was bandaged. He was fragile, his bones protruding from his skin in an ugly fashion. His face seemed to have aged, his eyes lost and hazy. His skin was beaded with sweat, gesturing fever or something or a similar kind. Like the others, he was bald and chained down to the table. It was a horrific sight, to see a man so _compassionate,_ and loving in such a state. A man who had read Arthur _bedtime_ stories, looked after him since a young age. Gaius was the man who had told him secrets about Igraine when Uther wasn’t around to scold Arthur’s curiosity; he was the one who had nursed him when he was sick, taught him that issues within Camelot weren’t simply black or white. Gaius had taught him a great deal.

Arthur recalled Merlin’s first reaction to Arthur admitting he _knew_ Gaius. Merlin had _seen_ Gaius in this state many months ago. No wonder he had been _furious,_ no wonder he had hated Arthur – _still_ hated Arthur. Arthur took a tentative step towards the table, unsure how to approach the old man. He didn’t want to startle him. However, Gaius seemed almost _impassive_ to the motion in his peripheral vision, as if he had been _expecting_ it. In fact, he didn’t seem to care. This _hurt_ far more than Arthur could say. He tried to find words, but words failed him. His lips trembled, and before he knew it he was kneeling by the table, hands clasped together as if he were praying desperately. His _father_ had let this happen to Gaius. Gaius had been his _lifelong_ friend.

“Gaius...” he whispered through the lump in his throat.

The man made no motion to turn his head or look over to the source of the voice. An element of surprise flickered in his features, gesturing perhaps he hadn’t heard his name for a _long_ time. Blinking slowly, a soft smile dusted the man’s face. His breathing was heavy and laboured, concerning Arthur greatly. As he gazed up at the man on the table – _imagine_ what that table had done to his spine, to lay on that for _months_ on end – anger flushed through Arthur’s veins. Did they _feed_ the druids, or provide them with water? Or did they treat them like lab rodents, only caring about the results gained from the tests. A small sound came from Gaius’ mouth, lips moving mechanically up and down as if to test them out. Then a word slipped past them, and it _destroyed_ Arthur.

“…Merlin?”

That prompted the tears to fall from Arthur’s stinging eyes, because he was _sure_ life was laughing at him now. Gaius truly believed that Arthur would never be here. Merlin _had_ come to try and rescue him; Arthur hadn’t – until now. Merlin was a better man than he ever could be. Wiping his eyes, Arthur inhaled a ragged breath. Gaius then seemed to freeze, _panic_ as his eyes flashed with realisation.

“ _Arthur.”_  Gaius turned his head slowly towards Arthur. Their eyes collided.

“I’m _so sorry_.” Arthur stammered, clearly distraught by everything he had seen. To think that apparently this lab wasn’t the _worst_ one either… Lifting his hands, Arthur reached for Gaius frenziedly, to ensure he was _still_ alive. Because he didn’t look very alive, he looked very much like he was _dying_ and incredibly weak. The skin was rough on his fingers. “This is all my fault. I should have _saved_ you, I should have come for your sooner.” Gaius stared at Arthur silently.

“I _tried_ to tell my father he was making a mistake,” Arthur explained, wishing that there was _something_ he could do other than beg for mercy. “He was _adamant,_ I c-couldn’t change his mind. I…I didn’t _try_ hard enough.” Sigh.

“You are not to blame for your Father’s mistakes.” Gaius replied firmly, refusing to believe otherwise despite Arthur’s inconsolable expression.

“Don’t defend my actions Gaius,” he responded with the same tone. “Nothing can excuse the fact that I allowed all of this to happen.”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he gazed around the dull room.

“Merlin was right about this place.”

Gaius stirred once more at the name, attempting to sit up.

“You know Merlin?” Once the question sprouted from Gaius’ mouth, he appeared to be unable to stop. “Merlin. Is Merlin _alright_?”

Cradling the man in his arms, Arthur gently aided him to a sitting position. Gaius coughed violently and Arthur couldn’t help himself. His eyes instinctively flashed silver, and the cough dwindled to a minor spluttering. Eyes wide, Gaius studied the man before him.

“You have _magic.”_

Nodding, Arthur bowed his head. He felt the wave of sadness swallow him whole and then spit him back out on a raggedly shoreline full of deceit and _more secrets_ and _lies._ Clasping the Merlin-bird necklace around his neck, Arthur grimaced.

“I have come to understand _so much._ I…I now know what caused the Great Purge…” His words trailed absently into the air, his mind too preoccupied in ensuring Gaius was safe and as well as he could be at the present time. Turning to Arthur sternly, the man tried to lift himself off the table and failed. Arthur soothingly held his shoulders, enforcing him to sit for a few moments longer and regain control of his body.

“ _I_ felt it.” Gaius muttered. “The Crystal Cave of Ealdor is gone forever.” For a moment Arthur pondered on Gaius’ choice of words, but quickly cast it aside in order to focus on the present matter.

“Ealdor is gone too.” Arthur reluctantly said, averting his eyes to avoid committing the look of complete _desolation_ on Gaius’ face to his dark memory. He had seen the expression too many times, and all were caused because of him. It had _literally_ driven him close to insanity. Shaking his head, Gaius tried to stand up once more. This time he was successful, although Arthur still held onto him warily.

“Hunith, Balinor, _Merlin-”_

The worry in his voice unnerved Arthur. Gaius had been through _so much_ emotional and physical toil; he didn’t _need_ this level of trauma right now. But telling him what he wanted to hear…Arthur had learnt his lesson from trying that before on many. Sometimes the truth had to be spoken, because the truth was what people _deserved_ to know. For the first time in _months_ Arthur spoke the truth and nothing but the truth, afraid if he diverted from it some kind of evil would sprout from his treachery.

“Hunith is safe, Merlin is leading the people to Ioanem.” he said slowly, hoping Gaius would comprehend the implications before having to spell it out. It appeared Gaius figured out the true message behind the words.

“Balinor was a revered leader,” Gaius spoke fondly, emotion seeping back into his eyes. “Merlin will lead the people with the same determination and courage in this time of darkness.”

Merlin - Arthur struggled to digest the word. Yes, Merlin would lead his people; he would protect them no matter what. But Merlin was fighting a complicated war here. This was _Uther Pendragon._ There was no way Merlin or his powerful magic could defeat the malicious army. Camelot Enterprise had the ferocity to abolish everything.

“Arthur,” Gaius murmured insipidly, losing strength. “It is not the past that defines us, or what we chose to do in light of the present…” He rested is head on Arthur’s shoulder eyes pressed closed. Arthur dragged him out of the room; Gwaine rushed to his side to help support the man. Gaius kept talking, despite his body becoming more limp. “It is the once and future that…unmasks…the Dragon’s heart.”

Once and Future- Arthur had no idea _what_ on earth _that_ meant, but it sounded important and somewhat ancient. Expecting Gaius to elaborate, Arthur panicked a little when he realised the man had become unresponsive.

“Don’t worry Arthur.” Gwaine consoled as they walked down the corridor towards the hub of freed druids. “They all have been slipping out of consciousness. They are _exhausted_ and need rest _._ But Leon said their magic will return and heal them. _”_

Leon was tutoring some of the weaker Druids on the art of the teleporting device. Arthur recalled Merlin’s words about magical teleporting with an injured passenger – it was _not_ a good idea. Taking the Druids back via magic was out of the question. Morgana ran to Arthur’s side, studying Gaius in fear. Cupping his face, she met Arthur’s eyes.

“He will be okay Morgana,” he said, not able to calm down the despairing woman. “I _promise_ he will be okay.”

For now, Arthur’s reassuring words were all she had. Silently, she took one of the teleport devices from the bag, pressing it into Gaius’ hand.

“I will take him over to Albion.” She hauled Gaius towards her, supporting him with her arms.

Arthur couldn’t deny her of this request, even if _he_ wanted to be the one to do it. Nodding, he watched as the pair disappeared into thin air. Arthur wasted no time, ushering the remaining druids towards the teleports. When certain everybody was through safely, Arthur cast a dismal look around the bland corridor. Camelot Laboratories – it would be the last thing he ever saw of Camelot Enterprise. It would be the final memory, the final spark to ensure something of this magnitude would never happen again. Arthur twisted his vision away from the corridor, offering Gwaine and Leon a forced smile.

“Come on,” eyes flashing silver, he grabbed both of them. “Let’s get out of here for good.” 


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I've been really a bad with updating. I've been so busy I just haven't had time to post! And I wanted to make sure I had written at least the next chapter so that I wouldn't fall behind.
> 
> Anyway - this is one of my FAVOURITE parts of the whole story :D 
> 
> Really hope you like it!!
> 
> Suggested listening: 
> 
> TRACKS 69 + 70 or youtube: "Mado Kara Mieru - Corner Stone Cues" and "Friendship To Last- Two Steps From Hell". 
> 
> I especially recommend the first track, it's a magnificent track.

Gwen awoke, slowly and peacefully, a few hours later to the sound of Calhoun and a few children playing amongst the resting Druids. Laughter laced her ears, the voices full of the promise of joy and happiness, everything that had been missing from the People. Opening her eyes, she gazed down at the sight fondly. The Children appeared to be reanimated, almost as bright and cheerful as they had once been. The sun had risen over the horizon, shining down radiantly over the lush landscape. As she walked past them, Calhoun bashfully waved at her and presented her a timid smile. She returned the smile knowingly, leaving them to continue playing.

They were chasing each other through the sleeping Druids, offering warm smiles to those who had woken. It sent a thrill of elation through Gwen’s body when she noticed most of the Druids _smiled back._ It wasn’t a big, broad smile, but it was nonetheless _a smile._ Yet, it confirmed her hopes, eased her worried soul. Perhaps Merlin _knew_ that this would happen, knew that the People would find a simple, beautiful reason to not give up and continue to live. For a moment, she frowned and allowed concern to wash over her skin. She’d expected Merlin to return by now, praying that whilst she was asleep he would creep back into the settlement.

Hunith was worried about him; Gwen could tell. The widow sat underneath the majestic white tree of Iaonem in solitude, caressing the glowing leaves that fell from its branches. It had been hard for Hunith the past few days. She had lost her _husband,_ the man she loved, the _leader_ of her people. And then _days_ later her own son had left with no explanation, other than words that were ridiculously optimistic and brimming with confidence. Hunith hadn’t spoken a word since the cataclysmic event. Not even _Will –_ who many times she had stated was her ‘second son’ – couldn’t coax a word out of her. Will was _worse_ though, Gwen admitted to herself. The young man was hunched in the shadows, not allowing the sunlight to touch him, or taint his sickly complexion and make it healthy again. Part of Gwen was _angry_ at Will for completely _absorbing_ himself in self-pity.

If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was acting this way _deliberately._

Of course, because she _did_ know him, she understood that whilst part of his sulking _was_ an act (in hope that Merlin would magically reappear and see what state he’d left his friend in, she definitely didn’t approve of this), the rest of his actions were genuine. He wasn’t upset – Will was _irritated_ and frustrated. Gwen didn’t blame him. William had _never_ trusted Arthur; he had always suspected ulterior motives and secret intentions. Nobody had listened to his concerns, or taken his word seriously. Yet all this time, he had been right. Gwen twisted her lips, uncomfortable with this thought. He had been right, but also he hadn’t been _right._ Sure, he had been _right_ about Arthur hiding something, _right_ about Camelot Enterprise. However, he had been hideously wrong about _Arthur_ himself, about the _real_ Arthur Pendragon.

That was what frustrated herthe most, because he was stubborn, narrow-minded and wouldn’t look _beyond_ what he already knew. Will was too fixated on the tragic death of his father, too stuck in the _past_ to judge Arthur Pendragon without prejudice. If only he could see what others saw. Though she highly doubted the Druids would think the same of Arthur now. Despite the events, that didn’t alter _her_ opinion of him – much. Sighing, Gwen walked past Will. She found herself too exasperated with his stupid behaviour to go over and talk to him. She’d tried the past few days making conversation, and it always began and ended with unnecessary pessimism and snide remarks. The man gazed up at her blankly as she walked past. For a moment she remained still, looking back at him sadly.

Then she averted her eyes and continued her path towards Hunith underneath the sacred tree of Iaonem. Bowing her head faithfully at the woman, Gwen knelt beside her comfortingly. The sacred tree, the Druid People called it ‘Monðwære-ferð’, was truly beautiful and peculiar. Its trunk was ivory, smooth to touch and hard to tap. Sprouting from it was dropping vines, like a willow tree. But this tree was special; its long dangling vines twinkled in the light. The tree was said to hold sacred spirits, ancestors. One could not deny the overpowering aura it had.

The magic within the roots of Monðwære-ferð was strong. And although it was no match for what had resided within the Crystal Cave, its presence was significant and _important._ Every living creature in Albion was important. This principle of respect and love for all living things was what had _truly_ drawn Gwen to the Druids. The beautiful, untouched world and the compassion of the people also persuaded her to stay, and the fact that on Earth she was in great danger.

Sometimes, very rarely, she thought about her past life, the life where she _wasn’t_ called Gwen, the life where she had a job and had to listen to outrageous racism against the Druids on a day-to day basis. Very often, she thanked the world for giving her redemption, a chance to start a-new in a wonderful place. Resolutely, she had come to the decision that _nothing_ was going to destroy this world. She wouldn’t let that happen; even she and a mere _handful_ of others were willing to stand up to Uther Pendragon and Camelot Enterprise. A small voice broke her from her trance.

“You are so strong,” Hunith breathed, cupping Gwen’s face with her hands. “Without you, I doubt the clan would have made it here.”

Pressing her hand over Hunith’s, the cinnamon-skinned woman smiled affectionately at the words. She could tell exactly what Hunith _really_ wanted to say without having to pry; it wasn’t hard to identify a mother’s concern.

“I wouldn’t be strong without him. He keeps me strong,” She muttered, watching Hunith’s eyes swell with pride. “You must know in your heart that whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it for us,” she lowered her voice, leaning towards the woman. “ _For you.”_

Hunith nodded in silent agreement, removing her hand from Gwen’s face. She turned her attention back to the willow, murmuring hushed words in the Druid tongue towards it. Respectfully, Gwen remained quiet, picking out what words she could. When Hunith had completed her prayer, she turned to the woman beside her with a smile, the first smile for many days. Confident eyes and glowing skin supported the gesture. It was a step in the right direction. The sound of Will’s unsteady voice – laboured with breath and ragged - startled the pair. They turned their attention towards him. Gwen disliked the look on his face. It bore more emotion that he had revealed recently combined, but it was the _wrong_ emotion. Fear. Swallowing-hard, Gwen clasped her eyes shut for a moment, allowing panic to swathe over her.

 _No. Please no._ She prayed to herself. All the people had was this one refuge from Uther. Don’t let him be _here._ Hunith latched onto her side for support; Gwen bravely opened her eyes and gazed imploringly over at Will.

“There’s something in the sky…” he said between pants rather ambiguously.

Cautiously the two women exchanged looks and Gwen felt curiosity overpower her as opposed to the previous apprehension. Something in the _sky…_

At that precise moment a flock of birds shot over the settlement, stirring the Druids below. Her curiosity faded. Will froze in his tracks, watching the birds fly over their heads. The resemblance was uncanny. Then the Wyverns that had nested with their Riders started to stir, and growl. Gwen didn’t think twice, she wasn’t _stupid_ and neither were the Druids. They’d seen this kind of behaviour before and what it led to wasn’t pleasant. Mass panic spread among the settlement. Some Druids, exasperated and weary, didn’t move. Some started weeping, _begging._ Others held their confused Children to their chests, singing songs of the Old Religion into their tousled hair. Gwen searched the rustling area anxiously for a mop of russet hair and large honeyed brown eyes.

There was no sign of him.

“Calhoun!” She cried out in horror, making her way through the crowd of people.

Her voice became nothing more than an added texture to the plethora of voices calling and shouting. Cupping a hand dejectedly to her mouth, she studied the chaos unfolding. They weren’t prepared for an _attack._ This time there was _no-where_ to run; they were cornered. They were going to die. There was no escape. A pair of arms wrapped around her waist rapidly. Gwen instinctively tugged the boy closer to her, stroking his head soothingly. Calhoun silently clung onto her, his eyes clamped shut in complete terror. Gently, Gwen continued to caress his hair, shooting Will a pleading, miserable glance as he made his way towards her. He returned the gaze and wrapped an arm around her consolingly. She rested her head on his shoulder, allowing the silent sobs to fall.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

They weren’t supposed to die here, defenceless and vulnerable.

Hunith found them in the crowd, dejectedly linking her hand with Will’s. The three of them, and Calhoun, stood motionless amongst the scurrying of the other Druids. They watched helplessly as people tried to gather their things. Some tried to climb the rocky terrain surrounding them. But adrenaline seemed to work against their favour in this scenario. The sky was clear for a few moments, empty. Then a giant shadow cast over their heads, blackening the area. Druids came to a standstill gazing up at the colossal shadow. A thrumming noise surrounded the area; different to the thrumming of machinery or weaponry. It was a foreign sound, like a _deep rumbling_ of thunder booming inside a large resonant chamber.

It was then they all came to realise that the shadow was a legendary silhouette. Gazing up, Gwenevere gaped in shock and pushed Calhoun backwards with slight hesitance. Will blinked in astonishment, more awed than scared of this phenomenon. Shaking her head in confusion, Gwen watched as the shadow hovered over the settlement. Tears framed her eyes. _How?_ How was this possible? A few metres away, a broken Hunith, supported by a shaken Will, wore a similar expression, only her eyes were vacant and blank.

The shadow abruptly grew larger over the clan; some druids headed for the rocky shelter in fear, others remained motionless in wonder. The pulsating beat of those strident wings sounded throughout the land majestically, revealing the identity of this giant shadow. It’s wings created a gust of wind that had enough power to softly shake the branches of Monðwære-ferð. The scaly beast landed on one of the large rocks, regally presenting itself before the clan. This was unusual; the Druids gazed back at the creature in bewilderment. Dragons were formidable creatures. Only those with _special power_ had real control over their actions. It was only at this moment that the clan realised there was somebody sitting _on_ the beast; somebody had tamed this mighty creature. Gwen stumbled forwards, allowing Calhoun to slip from her grasp. Will followed her in a hypnotic fashion, pushing through the motionless druids with urgency to confirm their suspicions.

The pair reached the front of the crowd. Reluctantly, Gwen looked up at the Rider of the Dragon.

She saw Merlin.

His appearance was almost distorted and accentuated in this moment. His mesmerising skin bubbled with the very essence of magic, emitting radiance. His eyes shone ochre vibrantly. His dark hair was a contrast against his pale complexion. Every feature of his face had been meticulously chiselled to perfection by the rays of the sunlight, giving the appearance of power and stature. His presence seemed to emanate the very emotion that had fled the massacre of Ealdor; Hope. Murmurs of this emotion echoed throughout the clan, amplifying its existence. The word Emrys spread rapidly between druids. _Emrys._ Emrys and the mighty Kilgarrah were here, in Iaonem. The two symbols of the redemption were right here. The sunlight painted them gloriously in its rays, refusing to hold back on making exaggerations or a grandiose imitation of a spotlight that focused on their saviours.

Merlin’s eyes trailed over the people before him, _his_ People. Warmth and vigour filled his chest, feeding the fire inside. These People were strong; these people had watched their homes become nothing but rubble and ash. These People had lost their loved ones, their families. These People had fled in fear, and horror. Those very People were not standing before him resiliently, quietly echoing the sentiment embedded behind his eyes. The best part was, some of them didn’t even _realise_ they were. It was beautiful, a staggering sight: watching People rebuild themselves. His eyes searched the crowd, stopping when they found his Mother. She looked happy _,_ her eyes smiling at him, her face slowly regaining life. Merlin was sat on a _Dragon –_ not a Dragon… _the_ Dragon of legend. If only his father could see him now!

Leaping off Kilgarrah’s back, Merlin stood boldly in front of his people. If any of the Druids had doubt as to who this hero was, they didn’t now. He was standing clearly in sight. He gently patted the scaly beast before outstretching his hands to his people. Swallowing-hard, he formed the words on his tongue. He had been trying to think of _what_ to say during his flight here. But nothing had sufficed, or been good enough. Now he was here, he could feel the words instinctively rising in his chest. Destiny was taking its toll, shaping the prophecy and whispering what he needed to say into his ear comfortingly.

“Uther Pendragon,” he began, voice raised enough to echo over the Ealden People. “and Camelot Enterprise have gravely wronged us…”

His People’s expressions darkened, their eyes wide and full of fear at the memories of that horrific day. The Children cowered into the closest arms available. Merlin made a point of dwelling in this upset, because he _wanted_ the People to understand. He wanted them to understand that in times of darkness, it is _imperative_ to feel these things. Only then can you truly transform and return into the light. Just when some of the Druids were about to allow their emotional overload to burst over the land, he continued. Taking a step forward to the edge of the large rook he smiled wryly.

“Uther and his people have sent us a message,”

His eyes scanned the familiar faces of his people, his _family;_ Gwenevere who was holding back her resilient tears; a profoundly proud Will. He felt the anger and loathing for the people who had destroyed their _everything_ arise without warning. His voice became louder, resonating fully over the land.

“A message that they can take what _ever_ they want, exile us from our home, destroy our _sacred place…”_ his voice cracked, the distressing memory of everything they’d ever known being obliterated in front of their eyes. 

Clenching his fists together bravely, he sighed. The clan dwelled in this sadness, a few weeping audibly. For a moment, a traumatising level of hysterical sorrow spread itself over the small settlement they had formed in front of the large, archaic Willow tree. And then, something changed. A strange, uplifting presence seeped into the atmosphere. The druids lifted their bowed heads, wiped their teary eyes; all eyes turned towards the sight before them. It was a wondrous sight, indicating that they no longer needed to be afraid. The sight that had been prophesised since the beginning of _time_ itself.

Emrys and the Great Dragon Kilgarrah.

Unified for one cause: justice.

Not sparing a moment, Merlin’s resolute voice cut through the silence once more.

“Well,” He began, a hopeful smile stretching over his lips as he watched his people become more animated.

“We will send _them_ a message.”

Some were surprised at the statement, others already beginning to allow smiles to form over their faces. Gwen clutched Will’s arm in apprehension. Merlin ran to the other side of the rock, towards a patch of Druids hovering on the side. His mere presence seemed to uplift them. Then he walked over to the other side, instigating a similar response. Soon the whole of Iaonem was buzzing with energy, hope, _and vigour._

“We will fly to the druid clans.” He stated, a few people mumbled in agreement. “We will call upon our friends, and ask them to fight for Albion, and everything we love.” His voice became fierce and imploring.

“Because this isn’t over. This,” Pause. He raised a hand triumphantly as Kilgarrah outstretched its wings behind him magnificently. It created a hypnotic shadow over the area. Gwenevere pushed Calhoun forwards, eyes lighting up in glee. The whole clan waited in anticipation, desperately clinging onto the sound of his last words hovering in the distance. The tension continued to rise, until it snapped and people stared cheering, and clapping and _laughing_ without even hearing the end of Merlin’s sentence. It didn’t need to be said, but he said it anyway, yelling victoriously into the sky.

“THIS IS OUR LAND.”

The surge of noise from the druids was _almost_ enough to drown out the noble roar that escaped Kilgarrah’s mouth. All at once the Druids raised their hands in the air resiliently. Laughing in surprise at the sudden change in spirits of the druids, Merlin brought a hand to his mouth for a moment, the light finally touching his golden, sparkling eyes. For the first time since that horrific event, he felt his _magic._ He felt the determination inside of him spew outwards, latching onto anybody in sight, radiating from his soul proudly. Everyone else seemed to feel it too, because the People suddenly became more invigorated. Some spurted golden jets of lights from their palms, allowing them to fizzle above their heads beautifully. And finally, Merlin _knew_ that things were going to be okay.

The Druid People were going to survive this, they were stay, they were going to fight – _we’re going to win._ For Camelot may be able to abolish the Crystal Cave, but Magic itself was one thing that could never die, it would _always_ live on.

Bringing his hand down, Merlin – _Emrys;_ finally the name was beginning to feel like his own – patted Kilgarrah gently, who refrained from roaring. Instantly, the Druids settled, their noise gently fluttering into silence’s hands.

“Now,” he said softly, managing to captivate the hundreds of once lost druids in front of him effortlessly. “Who will fight with me?”

The crowd, instead of pledging their vows as expected, remained silent. There were no cries of joy or elation. Nobody set their magic into the air in jubilation. In fact, nobody did _anything._ The People were silent, _frozen._ Narrowing his eyes, Merlin frowned, dejection swallowing him whole. He _really_ thought he had done it. What was it going to take to make bring back the _life_ in his people, to restore their faith? As he examined the silent crowd, he established something was very wrong. Gwen, for one, looked more shocked than crestfallen. Will’s eyes were blank, but there was a rage swelling behind his pursued lips. Hunith was cryptically expressionless. All in all, every Druid bore either emotions of shock, upset or confusion. But that wasn’t _what was wrong_ with this picture. There was something _worse._ They weren’t looking at Kilgarrah. Hell, they weren’t looking at Merlin. They weren’t even _looking_ at where the pair was standing.

The hundreds of pairs of eyes with empty expressions had all focused their attention elsewhere; _behind him_. That was enough to perturb him because part of him had already guessed, _felt,_ exactly who it was. Shutting his eyes for a moment with a deep breath, Merlin silently prayed. Please. _Don’t._ This was going to destroy everything, cast him back into a vacant shell and strip him of this newfound confidence. Merlin allowed the turmoil to consume him as _that voice_ rang out. The _voice_ that belonged to the _name,_ the name that had completely-

“We will.”

Unable to control himself any longer, the druid spun round. Despite recognising the voice, he was still unprepared for what he saw. Shock smothered his face. No, it was _impossible._ This was not happening. His jaw fell open subconsciously, eyes widened at the sight. There was that blonde man; the one six and a half months ago he had called a ‘prat’ in an elevator at the core of Camelot. The man who had weaved his way into Ealdor, weaved his way into his _heart._ He was the one who had the power to break his heart, _mend_ his heart and then break it again. He had the faith of every single druid wrapped around his finger dangerously. He was the one who had lied, who had deceived Merlin _all this time._ Those sapphire eyes were warm and brimming with assurance. He was the one who should never have come here.

But he was _here._

And it wasn’t just _him_ that startled Merlin. He was sitting - rather smugly of course - upon a Dragon. This Dragon wasn’t Kilgarrah. That was also _impossible_ because Kilgarrah was the _last Dragon._ Tearing his head back to Kilgarrah questioningly, Merlin blinked in confusion. The golden Dragon simply nodded, nudging Merlin closer with his head. Kilgarrah’s eyes were warm, content. Gaping, Merlin studied the creature before him. A hesitant, _nervous_ laugh escaped his lips. Disbelief then clasped him by the shoulders, shaking him back into reality. Arthur – Arthur Pendragon – was sitting on the White Dragon. Aithusa. _Aithusa-_ the lost Dragon of Naiimen Legend. Merlin remembered the story well; nobody had seen Aithusa since it had supposedly hatched. But even the _hatching_ of this Dragon was vague and believed to be nothing but nonsense.

Aithusa was _beautiful,_ gleaming a pearly white. Its white scales shimmered in the light. It rivalled Kilgarrah in size, body only slightly smaller and daintier. Whilst Kilgarrah was Regal and powerful, Aithusa looked elegant and _pure._ It’s sapphire eyes shimmered with innocence. They were locked on Merlin. Then Aithusa bowed its head towards Merlin. The gesture touched Merlin. Completely forgetting about Arthur, Merlin politely mimicked the action and spoke in the Dragon tongue.

“Fægernis, ðu béomæst bletsung,” he whispered, trying not to acknowledge Arthur’s astonishment. This was about Aithusa and Merlin for the moment. The Dragon gazed back at him silently, curiously. Then gently, it spoke. The pitch of its voice gestured it was a female Dragon.

“ _Arfuera.”_ She said, breaking Merlin’s smile into a thousand pieces, because he _knew_ what she meant and Kilgarrah had also seemed adamant on this too.

Reluctantly, Merlin cast his attention away from the Dragon and towards Arthur Pendragon. His eyes only lingered there for a second before gazing behind them.

Merlin spotted none other than Morgana, standing beside Bregurófne and Leon. A little further to his right he saw, he could practically hear Gwenevere’s choked sob, _Lancelot;_ Gwaine. They were both here too. Gwaine offered Merlin a friendly smile. Dismounting the dragon, Arthur quietly caught Merlin’s eyes. Slowly, he took a step towards a flabbergasted Merlin, blue eyes shining vibrantly. No. Arthur was not allowed to be this _calm,_ this _sure_ about everything. It wasn’t _fair._ Panic swathed Merlin.

Averting his eyes quickly, he took a step backwards, not letting his apparent shock take over and make him do something stupid. He had to do what was best for his people; not what was best for his dying heart. His back collided with Kilgarrah. Mentally scolding the Dragon, Merlin sighed. He had no choice but to take a step forwards, finally meeting Arthur face to face in the middle of the large rock. The Druids silently watched in trepidation, unsure what would happen next. Arthur couldn’t help but feel like he was the main character in some epic movie right now, hundreds of eyes calculating his next move. It unnerved him.  

When Arthur was standing close – too close – Merlin met his eyes fiercely, refusing to break under this gaze. He had _vowed,_ he had warned Arthur if he came back he would _kill him…_ a dejected sigh tore from his throat. How on earth could he ever bring himself to kill this man? It all came together in a heartbeat. He couldn’t live with this man, but he definitely couldn’t live without him. His absence had revealed this. Noticing the blonde was about to speak, Merlin raised a hand abruptly, and silenced him with his mere attempt at authority. He was _Emrys;_ this was _his_ land, _his_ people. Not Arthur’s. A Pendragon had no right to be here, least of all without _permission._

“I thought I told you to leave, and never come back.”

He honestly tried to sound foreboding, throwing as much hatred and vehemence into his tone as he could. It failed spectacularly. His voice sounded as a mere whisper, embedded with forbidden friendship and traumatic disaster. He found himself mesmerised by Arthur’s soft, cerulean orbs that nervously stared straight back into his soul. Exhaling, the blonde man shook his head wearily. Then a bitter laugh escaped his mouth.

“You know me Merlin,” he said, voice low. “I never listen to you.”

The small smile tugging at his lips almost threatened to make its way onto Merlin’s stone cold face. _God._ Biting his lip, Merlin clamped his eyes shut for a moment, trying to take in what exactly was going on. There was no denying it. Now he was here, in front of him. His magic was tingling inside, his heart pounding faster and _faster._ It dawned on him: he had missed this prat and his stupid fucking lies and betrayal, and affection and disobedience and arrogance. Despite _everything_ he’d done _._ Opening his eyes, confusion slapped him over the face, a harsh reminder of everything Arthur had done. He had caused relentless suffering, the death of this own _father-_ Blinking rapidly to avoid letting the tears fall from his eyes, Merlin felt a dismal chuckle slip past his own lips.

“…I know.”

Bleakly, Arthur reached for Merlin, hands shaking a little. He felt his composure deceive him when the druid slipped back from his grip, a small distressed moan sounding. Arthur had predicted their meeting wouldn’t run smoothly. Swallowing-hard, Arthur bowed his head; unable to look upon the pale, stone face of the man he had been responsible for breaking. He was too scared to see what was emanating from his eyes.

“I’m sorry Merlin. I never meant to betray your trust-“

At these words, Merlin interjected with a vacant voice, almost vacant enough to be disturbing and lost.

“-I was scared. Scared for my people…” the emotion slowly seeped back into his voice as he jumped an octave. “They…they took _everything_ Arthur and you-”

Meeting Merlin’s eyes reluctantly, Arthur felt himself wince at the unspoken accusation. Turning away from Arthur, Merlin took a step towards his people, trying to remain strong for their sake. The Pendragon’s had done too much damage here, it was impossible to fix with their help. The Druids were strong, the Druids were determined. They had fought wars like this before. They would pull through. They didn’t _need_ another betrayal, another heartbreak, another- all of a sudden Merlin gazed over towards his People. He was being incredibly selfish. _He_ didn’t want another betrayal, another heartbreak, another…

“We don’t need your help.” He snapped affirmatively, not turning back to look at the man.

Merlin ignored Kilgarrah’s silent judgemental look of doubt. Just because a _dragon_ told him Arthur was destined to be by his side did not make it true. Dragons had predicted many things and been wrong before in the past. Why was this any different? Rolling his eyes, Arthur gazed at the back of Merlin’s head, wishing there was someway they could get over this towering hurdle and just go back to how things were. Irritation pounded him. _Yes._ He had done wrong, he had messed up. But Merlin _needed_ to see the bigger picture here. The people _needed_ the help of Arthur and his friends.

“Yes you do.” He quickly replied. “Stop being so stubborn-“

“-I’m not being stubborn. We. Don’t. need. _You.”_ Merlin’s voice became lethal, but that wasn’t enough to stop Arthur Pendragon from reaching out to him and hauling him back around to face him angrily. Neither cared any more that the whole clan alongside Gwaine, Lance, Leon and Morgana were watching them intently.

“Merlin!” he spat, grabbing the shoulders forcefully. “ _Don’t_ make this about me.”

The pair shared an intense gaze, unfolding every emotion that had cascaded over them: annoyance, agitated and stirring wildly in their eyes; irritation burning up through their skin; uncontrollable lust; irrevocable love; irrevocable _hate_ ; sharp betrayal; soft destiny. Destiny. Smiling sadly, Merlin unashamedly held their gaze. He seized the emotions inside and held them out bleakly in front of Arthur. He watched he blonde’s eyes slowly flash with comprehension as he studied the emotions.  

“It’s always you Arthur, _always.”_ Arthur’s featured softened, the grip on Merlin’s shoulders loosening.

“ _Merlin-”_ he muttered, unprepared for what came next.

The words evoked that burnishing fire inside of his body.

“But not anymore.”

His grip tightened, heaving Merlin forwards ruthlessly.

“You!” he stammered in disbelief, before pushing the druid out of his grip, far out of reach. Merlin raised his palm impulsively, keeping his distance.

“Me?” he roared furiously, eyes wavering between blue and gold unsteadily.  

Morgana took a step forwards in concern, magic and high-strung emotions didn’t mix well, she _knew_ this. Leon tugged her back hastily. This was something they had to solve alone. Arthur growled, because he’d had enough _of this shit._ Merlin wasn’t even accepting the fact that there were so many complex layers involved with his apparent ‘betrayal’. He failed to look beyond what had happened at Ealdor, without remembering _everything_ they’d been through together. Surely Merlin knew Arthur valued him enough to never fake or forge a friendship like that? He feared the Druid didn’t understand at all.

“I…” Merlin shook his head, clenching his open palm into a closed fist. “I can’t believe you have the _audacity_ to come here and blame me!”

No. Arthur _wasn’t_ blaming Merlin at all. In fact he was doing the contrary. But now he thought about it, yes. He could very well blame Merlin for all of this and act as childish as the man was. Scoffing, Arthur petulantly folded his arms over his chest.

“This isn’t about _you_ Merlin-”

Thatdid it for Merlin, because was Arthur _really_ going to go there and imply that he didn’t really care about his own people? Apparently _yes._

“-I’m _not_ making this about me,” He spat viciously. “ _you_ are making this about me!-”

“-I wonder why.” Arthur chided sullenly. “I guess because the only thing _stopping_ me from stopping my father is _you.”_

Merlin could _not_ believe what he was hearing. _He_ was the one preventing Arthur from stopping Uther? How was that possible? To stop Uther, Arthur didn’t need to be here, he could have marched up to Camelot and faced him. The only thing _Arthur_ was doing was stalling an inevitable meeting with his father.

“I am protecting my _People.”_ Merlin yelled in response, seething.

That wasn’t true at all, Arthur could see right through it and spoke his mind without caution.

“You’re protecting _yourself.”_

“GO. WE DON’T NEED YOU.” The dark-haired man shrieked, sounding more exasperated than angry. “I DON’T NEED YOU EITHER.”

With that, he turned away from Arthur and towards Kilgarrah who looked unimpressed. Running a hand through his dishevelled hair, Arthur outstretched his arms in frustration.

“Y-y-you’re insufferable!” he cried. “I gave up _everything._ I left my life behind just so I could be here with you and the Druids. I betrayed my father; I committed high _treason_ in favour of the druids. I tried to protect you; I risked everything to save your people. And,” he took a step forwards, a dark bite to his tone. “I just broke into my _father’s_ headquarters, rounded up the clandestine druidians, shut-down every single laboratory in the world, freed the Druids, found the _impossible_ White Dragon, saved Gaius, rode all the way back here to find you and you’re _still_ indifferent to me?! Now who’s behaving like a fucking CLOTPOLE DOLLOPHEADED PRATFACE C-”

Out of all of these words, Merlin was only able to pick up one thing. The rest of the world dissolved into the background. Anger morphed into fear, his rage melted into concern. That name, that name that meant everything. The one he’d desperately tried to save, tried to protect from the clutches of Uther. The memory of the weakening man, hair shaved, and blank eyes haunted his thoughts. No. Looking over to Arthur in shock, an overwhelming nauseating feeling swept over his body, muscles clenching together to contain it. He could see Arthur’s lips still moving, the man pacing back and forth as he spoke in irritation clearly _still_ listing insults. But the words were muffled, because one word was echoing constantly. Gaius. Gaius. Gaius. _Gaius._ Merlin interrupted urgently.

“-Gaius?”

Breaking his stream of words, Arthur stopped pacing. He turned to Merlin silently, watching hope flicker in those eyes. Nodding slowly, he smiled with a small shrug; the smile gave Merlin unbelievable levels of happiness. The confirmation. Gaius was okay, _hell_ Arthur Pendragon had _saved him._ Unable to do anything but crouch onto his knees, his legs were too unsteady to balance on, hand over his mouth, Merlin shook his head feebly. _Gaius._ The man was safe and sound.A small sound slipped past through his hand, resembling an alien sound he had never made before, swathed in ecstasy.

Arthur’s next words did even _more_ than this.

“He’s not the only one.” Arthur spun around to gesture behind him.

Lifting his head from his shaking hands, Merlin gaped in _awe_ at the sight before him. Compellingly, he pushed his body to stand limply with his magic’s will, legs still shaking. In every direction coming their way, on Wyverns, some walking, some _running,_ were druids. Druids freed from their captivity in the laboratories of Uther Pendragon’s company. The marks of magic-inhibiting chains bruised their pale skin; their eyes were sunken into their heads in fatigue. Many were bald, and were clothed in things far too big for their malnourished bodies. But they were beautiful, they were strong, they were _survivors._ They were living proof that together, they could defeat Camelot Enterprise.

Members of the Ealdor clan surged forwards in joy, some screaming names of those they thought had once been lost forever. Hugs were exchanged, happiness sprouting from the melancholic laughter, the relieved smiles, the _free_ druids. Taking a step forwards, standing besides Arthur, Merlin watched the scene before him unfolding. All he could do was gape, observing the captives roam through Iaonem free. That truly was… _amazing._ These Druids had been caught, tortured and god knows what else.

But now, they were _free._

“Arthur,” he whispered, feeling his magic swell at this immeasurable gesture of loyalty, of _everything_. He had bought the people home… _saved_ thousands of lives despite risking his own.

“ _Arthur.”_

The gravity of what Arthur Pendragon had done, what he had risked hit him. He inhaled a shaky breath, holding a hand to his throbbing head. This was _too much_ to take in. _Too big._ Noticing Merlin’s weakening composure, Arthur gently supported him with his hand. A few seconds later, the raven-haired man attempted to start his sentence again.

“Arthur _you-“_ before he could finish, his eyes locked on one man who was standing beside Morgana. And that just finished him off.

“GAIUS!” rushing forwards without hesitation, Merlin leapt into the arms of the old man, tears immediately escaping. Wrapping his arms around Merlin, Gaius’ brittle voice shook with laughter. Immediately, Gwenevere had made her way through the crowd, embracing Gaius firmly, sobs of relief overpowering her system. Merlin watched in joy, unable to contain a laugh. Hunith leapt onto the rock, desperately running towards the three figures. Swathed in affection, she gazed over at Arthur, offering him a genuine smile.

Watching the separated families reunite, old friends reconnect, strangers greet strangers with admiration and fondness, Merlin wiped his eyes. A hand pressed itself into his back, and Merlin suddenly felt like the rest of the world didn’t matter, because right here and now they were all trapped inside this vignette of dangerous hope and blinding joy.

“After everything you’ve done for me,” Arthur whispered, mouth pressed close to Merlin’s ear. “I had to do this. For you, for _me,_ for the people _._ To prove my loyalty, to prove I am not my father.” He sighed, the breath ghosted over Merlin’s neck, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. A warm hand met his, clasping it tightly.

“You changed me Merlin, you changed my heart and opened my eyes to what I couldn’t see.” Arthur continued, his grasp on Merlin’s hand tightening.

“I know you may never forgive me, but your people want to fight. _I_ want to fight.”

Spinning around, Merlin stared into Arthur’s eyes, vulnerable and full of raw feelings. For a moment they stood in silence examining each other, committing every inch of the other’s face to memory.

“You’ve freed my people from captivity Arthur.” He said, tears falling down his face. “There is no greater act of valour and honour than that.” Arthur reached a hand up to the druid’s face, brushing a thumb over the tears affectionately.

Holding Arthur’s hand to his face, Merlin felt his trembling lips upturn.

“I’m not afraid anymore,” Merlin stated, looking Arthur straight in the eyes.

There was a brief silence. Arthur stared pensively back at Merlin, studying the happiness radiating from his eyes. Then he leant in a little closer and spoke three words, three very _important_ words that meant more than anything in the entire world.

“Ic æalá ðu-”

With that, Merlin crashed his lips onto Arthur’s with brute force. His hands reached for his shirt, clenching his fists in the fabric violently. Startled a little by the sudden collision, the blonde gasped before moving his hands passionately to the nape of Merlin’s neck, pulling him close enough for their teeth to clink awkwardly against each other, enough to creating a bruising pain between them. The kiss was quick, _desperate,_ longing. It said everything yet it didn’t say _enough._ It meant everything yet had so much more inside it waiting to be unveiled. The contact seemed to finish before it had even begun. Lips burning, fervour searing in their eyes, the pair rested their foreheads together.

Panting, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold as he unclenched his fists and held a hand over Arthur’s racing heart.

“Arthur, I see you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Fægernis, ðu béomæst bletsung - Beautiful Creature, you are our greatest blessing  
> Ic æalá ðu - I See You


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Arthur and Merlin are off to gather the Clans! 
> 
> I loved writing this chapter, it's full of OC Characters and I hope you like them. There were unfortunately too many characters to introduce for one chapter. But throughout the next few chapters hopefully a picture of most of the Clan leaders and some of their people will be painted :) 
> 
> Now let's see how Merlin & Arthur get on...  
> Enjoy ^^

According to Naiimen Legends, the clans of Albion had only ever come together to fight for justice _once._ This was many thousands of years ago, and since then each clan had kept themselves to themselves. Sighing, Merlin raked a hand through his dark hair, gazing out into the horizon. Despite the druids being a peaceful people, there was no denying the pain and suffering that had been caused by the hands of Arthur’s father. What if they were too blinded, too full of grief and despair to understand that Arthur Pendragon’s place was here in Albion? What if the other Clans didn’t have as much faith in Emrys as Ealdor did? Ealdor couldn’t fight Uther Pendragon alone; the outcome would be _worse_ than the last time. He was too preoccupied in his thoughts to acknowledge that the two Dragons had crept up on him- although really, how on _earth_ two giant creatures managed to do so baffled him.

“I sense great worry within you, young warlock.” Aithusa frowned, causing Merlin to abruptly turn around and face her, trying to hide the evident surprise.

He gazed at the majestic White Dragon, a true vision of beauty and Hope, _promise._ This symbol, the final Dragons of Albion united for one cause, _could_ be the one thing that persuaded the Clans to follow Ealdor. Aithusa lowered its neck; head now the same height as Merlin’s. With a fond smile, Merlin gently stroked her scales. That didn’t seem to fool either of the Dragons though, and he should have known better because Dragons were amongst the cleverest beings to have ever lived on the earth.

“He does not believe that the clans will come.” Kilgarrah observed wisely, golden eyes narrowed in curiosity. Merlin was a confusing young man, constantly conflicted inside, never _totally_ sure of himself or his destiny. Slowly, the raven-haired man turned his attention to Kilgarrah, confirming the words as that small smile withered into a grimace. Aithusa noticed and lifted her neck to nudge Kilgarrah.

“I do not understand,” she admitted, clear bewilderment etched into her silky, hypnotic voice. “You have a great Destiny, why would you chose to deny what others see so clearly?”

To say Merlin was moved by her kind words was an understatement. Despite it being two days since Arthur’s return, Merlin was _still_ completely enamoured with the White Dragon- the dragon of _legend!_ A slight flush of red dusted his cheeks as he dwelled on her words. Many people believed in him, in _Emrys._ That wasn’t the problem at all. He merely worried that somehow this…this was all _too good_ to be true. That Arthur was too close for comfort, that Destiny was going to suddenly cast him back – whilst laughing deviously – to the empty ruins of Ealdor. Just the _thought_ of having this magnificent _promise_ taken away…Averting his eyes to the ground, a solemn chuckle left his lips. Kilgarrah raised his eyebrows, silently examining the young Druid’s movements.

“They _will come_ Merlin,” a new voice said, bringing Merlin’s eyes up from the ground. He turned to the source of the voice, watching as two figures emerged from behind the Dragons. His eyes softened, glancing over at the younger of the two women. She was dressed in a beautiful, simplistic yellow gown that complemented her cinnamon skin; her dark curls fell freely to her shoulders. And her profound, dark brown eyes were full of unwavering _trust;_ faith. She had never given up on him. All this time, she had led the people here to Iaonem. Unable to conceal the affection consuming him, Merlin felt his watery eyes betray him.

“I believe in you. I _always_ have, since I first met you.” She said, walking towards him until they were face to face. “You and Arthur are special,” a smile sprinkled over her lips, enriching her complexion. Reaching for his hands, Gwen clasped them tightly. Merlin felt an involuntary smile slip over his lips. Gwen had such a good heart. But she was also determined and never failed to speak her mind when nobody else dared. “Together I _know_ you can do anything, nothing will stop you from saving this land.”

“Gwenevere is right,” the second woman said, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief because this had to be the _first time_ he had heard his mother _talk_ since the collapse of the Crystal Cave. Releasing his hands, Gwen took a step backwards, standing reluctantly beside Aithusa. Any trace of nerves evapourated when the White Dragon gently nuzzled its head against her shoulder, a gesture of approval and agreement. Meeting her son’s sapphire eyes, Hunith clasped her hands together.

“I’ve seen how much he needs you, how much _you_ need him.” she paused, offering her only son a warm smile. “You’re like two sides of the same coin.”

Two sides of the same coin

Once and Future.

_Destiny._

**♦☼♦**

It was very rare for news of the outside world to reach Balegkor, especially when the hills were dusted with snow and cold, icy winds ravaged the landscape. Balegkor was situated high in the Northern Hills, far enough North to guarantee safety and solitude, but not far enough to venture into the ancient Naiimen Valleys and crevasses. Similar to many other clans, the Balegkor clan seemed content to live inside its own idyllic word, acknowledging the fact that other Druids lived across Albion, but rarely making contact. It had always been this way.

Nonetheless, this was a New Age, stained with the blood of innocent Druids, suffering people. This New Age threatened to consume the beautiful, pure land and slowly suck the life from everything, until the land no longer vibrated with magic and wonder but hummed with sorrow and an eternal loss. This New Age was indeed youthful, less than a few years in the making. It all began after the Magical Containment Act outside of Albion. That was the catalyst. And now, years later, the past six months had drastically intensified verging on a dangerous massacre or a bloodthirsty war. Ysěult pressed a hand to her freckled skin, gazing blankly out across the Balegkor Clan.

She did worry for her people, especially after the death of her husband Danyl. Sometimes at night, when she was about to succumb to sleep, his face would wash over the air, his lips would gently kiss her eyelids shut, the memory of his smooth voice plunged her into peaceful slumber. Since Uther Pendragon’s arrival in Albion, she had relied on the strength of her only son, Rægan to keep her mind at rest. His eyes were the same as his father’s, a piercing emerald that never faltered to evoke awe and curiosity. But behind this initial striking emerald were darker shades of verdant green. Danyl’s eyes were like a vast forest, unparalleled in splendour and engaging. Yet each time you gazed at the forest, you noticed something you hadn’t before, and this merely made it all the worthwhile to continue searching.

Through thirty years of marriage, Ysěult was certain there were still parts of his irises left undiscovered, even when she had closed them with trembling palms and watched his body ignite in the magical jade flames. Now five years a later, she found herself discovering these mysteries in the eyes of her handsome son. Smiling, Ysěult combed through her dark hair with her fingers pensively, a stark contrast against her pale, freckled skin and wide chestnut eyes. The sound of the door opening dramatically commanded her immediate attention. Her concern withered when she saw Keita standing in the doorway.

Keita was a fair-skinned, blonde girl of roughly seventeen. It was no secret that she possessed rare, natural beauty both in her physical appearance and character. It was _also_ no secret that young Rægan held great esteem and deep affection for her. Bowing her head gracefully, Keita lifted the ends of her lilac dress with her hands.

“My lady,” she began timidly, cautiously lifting her eyes to meet the Leader of the Balegkor Clan. “I…” swiftly her composure deteriorated, and Rægan emerged from the corridor, sparing a sympathetic glance at Keita. Despite wanting to draw her into his arms and ease her worry, he had no choice but to comply to the standards assumed by future Clan-Leader.  Reluctantly, he took a step forwards and offered his mother a courteous bow.

Ysěult didn’t hesitate. She picked up her dainty elk-wood staff and caught her son’s eyes fericely. She knew the signs of urgency and the symptoms her son displayed when he was _fearful._ Swallowing-hard, she took a step towards him.

“What is it?”

Rægan found himself unable to answer. He gestured for his mother to follow him down the wooden bridge. The voices of her people resonated through her ears, alarming her. Balegkor was a peaceful land; this did not sound like the peaceful land she had strived to build. Abruptly, Keita answered on her son’s behalf.  She barely managed a whisper, but that was enough because Ysěult managed to hear each syllable clearly.

“… _Emrys.”_  

Emrys: the druid of legend. The notion chilled Ysěult, sending a shudder up her spine. She knew how powerful this Warlock was said to be, how mighty and great he was. The Naiimen Legends had been clear about his Destiny, his Fate. A smile dusted her face, a genuine smile that had been omitted for many weeks. As they neared the end of the bridge, Ysěult _felt_ an overpowering stream of magic enter her system. The whole land appeared to glow in reverence. Rægan took a step forwards boldly, not allowing his mother to pass.

“It’s not just Emrys,” he stated, unsure how else to elaborate.

A few seconds later he found he didn’t need to elaborate, because a strident roar – unmistakably a Dragon – sounding through the Hills explained everything. Pushing past her son, Ysěult gazed upon the sight. She saw two Dragons, the Golden Dragon of old and the mythical White Dragon. Gaping, she took a step forwards, the clan forming a pathway for her to walk down. Rægan followed, gently tugging a reluctant Keita along behind him. A flush of embarrassment dusted his cheeks; he hadn’t even _greeted_ Emrys! The moment he had seen the two Dragons in the sky, he had set off to alert his mother. Now he took a moment to fully appreciate the majestic aura the Dragon’s held. The White Dragon was marvellous, twinkling enigmatically in the sunlight; Kilgarrah was a beacon of strength and courage.

And standing in front of the two Dragons were two men. One of them Ysěult recognised instantly, he was the source of overwhelming magic, overflowing power; he was Emrys. The other man she could not identity. He had golden hair, striking blue eyes and although he had magic in his veins, there was something very different radiating off of his skin; fortitude, bravery. Combined, the two men created an electric atmosphere, one that could not be ignored. Reaching the two men, Ysěult gazed between the pair before sparing a moment to admire the beautiful Dragons behind them. Politely, _Emrys_ bowed his head to her, offering a warm smile.

The blonde man beside him appeared somewhat nervous, sheepishly mimicking the actions of Emrys and all of a sudden Ysěult established who this man was.  It was all so obvious now. He was the Dragon-hearted man, the Once and Future, he was Arthur Pendragon. Ysěult nodded, seeming to ease his fidgeting, before turning back to Emrys.

“You do not need to ask,” she said gently, startling the dark-haired man. “Whatever is it young Emrys, we will follow you.”

**♦☼♦**

The news of the Ealden Uprising travelled swiftly throughout all of Albion. Apparently, within just one day, news of the White Dragon and Kilgarrah had spread as far as Dresdentian and Serepolis. Both Clans had come to Ealdor’s aid instantly, now residing at Iaonem. Ryol had watched in curiosity as the neighbouring Clans resiliently left their homes and set off towards the mystical dwelling of Druids. A harsh wince escaped his lips at the sensation of pain burning through his skin. The old woman beside him frowned sympathetically whilst dabbing a cloth at the open wound. Her soft eyes studied his concerned face, the candlelight enriching her maternal-like compassion.

“You are unsure whether we should go.” She stated blankly, continuing to examine the large gash on his arm.

Averting his eyes, Ryol frowned. Yes. He _was_ having doubts as to whether he should lead his people blindly into battle. Even though Emrys _was_ the foundation of this grand army, the Druids appeared to have forgotten something crucial: they were fighting _Uther Pendragon._ This man had annihilated the Crystal Cave in _minutes._ They had no chance. Ryol was unsure if he could lead his loyal friends and People to their inevitable deaths. The ageing woman remained silent, allowing the man to stir over his thoughts. As she reached for the magic-enhanced bandage, Ryol spoke his mind.

“We have never faced a threat like this,” He admitted gravely; he tried not to wince as the woman gently wrapped the bandage around the wound. “We all know what he is capable of Alys, and it’s… _horrifying.”_ The memory of the magical-weeping, the day the Crystal Cave fell swept over him, causing his tone to waver into the lair of panic. “And the truth is that I, a grown man, am frightened by this power.” Sigh. Averting his eyes swiftly, Ryol swallowed-hard. Alys had always made him speak his mind. He knew she would not judge him. For many years she had advised him in decisions, aided the Clan with healing and medicine. She was the _best_ healer in the whole of Albion – he was certain of it.

Tightening the bandage, Alys smiled weakly.

“We are all frightened. But we should let this fear drive us, not consume us,” removing her hand from the wound, she met his eyes. “I know my services as a healer will be needed, especially after Gai…” she refrained from talking, eyes watery and throat swollen. That name, that man. She had not seen him for years, but she had heard what had happened to him. Gaius was in the laboratory; Gaius was probably dead, or dying. Ryol compassionately reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. He did not know much of her life before Freignt. However, he knew that there was a man she loved dearly. But it _hurt_ her to speak of him. She bowed her head apologetically and abruptly made her way towards the door. Ryol watched her and leapt to his feet.

“Alys!” He called. The woman came to a halt, gazing back at him silently. “You’re right. We should never allow fear to rule us, to bind us in the dark. I bid you permission to leave for Iaonem-”

“-Forgive me Ryol,” the old woman chuckled almost knowingly, taking the young man by surprise. “But I do not need your permission.”

Raking a hand through his dark hair, Ryol laughed at her words. He didn’t _doubt this._ She’d always been a stubborn old woman, resilient and brave. At that moment, a beautiful young woman entered the room. She was dressed in a long, elegant sapphire gown that matched her eyes, her auburn hair plaited prettily around her head. Ïalvy smiled warmly at Alys before turning to her husband with determination. He already knew from the glint in her eye that she had been eavesdropping.

“We’ll leave for Iaonem by Sunrise.” she declared, raising her eyebrows challengingly at the man before her. Taking a step forwards, she traced her fingers delicately over his face. “This is our one chance to fight for our freedom-”

“This war could change _everything-”_ Ryol interjected with a laboured grimace.

“-You’re right.” Ïalvy cooed. “If we win and Albion is safe, it can prosper in the age of _Emrys-_ the Once and Future. But if we lose…” her eyes lost their vibrancy for a moment, unable to comprehend the consequences of failing to overthrow the Camelot invaders.

“We won’t lose.” Alys stated boldly from the doorway, studying the pair quietly.

Ïalvy nodded assumingly, seeming to agree with Alys’ words. Ryol would have given anything to believe the hopeful words. Yet no matter how he tried to visualise the situation, maintain optimism, he found he could not. Ïalvy noticed his reluctance immediately and removed her hand. Instantly Ryol’s world felt cold and lifeless; that was nothing compared to what would happen next.

“You cannot force the people to stay,” she stated, moving towards Alys’ side. Her dubious intentions suddenly become apparent and solid. A soft smile dusted her lips, full of poignancy and remorse. “Just as I cannot force you to come with us.”

**♦☼♦**

Merlin had never had reason to venture into the Mountains of Ghedent, the towering, majestic mountains that ruled the south of Albion. He had always _wanted_ to venture into the mountains, explore this spectacular region. Yet one usually needed _great_ reasons to travel that far. It was no secret that there was great mystery embedded within this striking region. Intriguingly, only one clan resided here in the mountains; the Ghedent Clan. According to those that had travelled through the mountains, this clan was one of the largest in the whole of Albion, with approximately over ten thousand citizens. That was all Merlin knew about Ghedent in all honesty, and this was enough reason to personally visit the clan.

Some Clans had received the message via other means and started preparing their journey to Iaonem. Merlin could not afford to _assume_ Ghedent were aware of the uprising and were doing the same. As Arthur correctly pointed out, ten thousand extra Druids fighting against Uther would not only significantly out-number the enemy, but it would possibly give them an incredible _advantage._ It could completely turn everything on its head. The concern etched over his face seemed to be far less concealed than he hoped, for the blonde man beside him turned his attention towards him.

“Don’t worry Merlin.” He said, gazing up at the tall, silver gates guarding the settlement. “Not _one_ clan has refused to follow you,”

Merlin grit his teeth, wanting to correct Arthur. Not one clan had refused to follow _them; us._ The Druids weren’t _just_ following him; they were following Arthur too. Evidently the crisis of Ealdor and the Crystal Cave had completely destroyed the blonde’s self-belief. Little did Arthur know of his Destiny, or that Merlin had _seen him_ in the Crystals that day six months ago. If he did, perhaps it would change things. Now was not the time to discuss this, but Merlin knew this was an issue he would have to address in the near future. And it scared him, because he _knew_ it was _his fault_ that Arthur had become this almost subservient man. He was loyal and strong and maintained the same energy he always had. But his stance was different, his whole _demeanour_ was shifting. Merlin had viciously pushed him away, abandoned him.

“…Merlin?” blinking rapidly, Merlin turned to watch an amused and curious smile slip onto Arthur Pendragon’s face. The smile flickered out of existence almost immediately. “Don’t worry, you are _Emrys!”_ a laugh escaped his lips. “No-one could refuse you!”

‘And you are the Once and Future’ Merlin desperately wanted to say, but found he could not, for this secret had been withheld for too long. He was fully aware his behaviour was extremely hypocritical right now. Arthur had not been the _only_ person keeping secrets all these months. Merlin had been keeping quite a few, not all form Arthur either. For a moment his mind drifted to Morgana. He had _deprived_ her of her Destiny, reusing to tell her the truth. Was he doing the same for Arthur? Abruptly, Merlin turned to Arthur and strung out a list of reasons as to why he was apparently worried about Ghedent.

“Arthur, the people here are remote, not much is known about them and their ways,” He could practically _feel_ Arthur rolling his eyes at the ridiculous statement. “The Ghedent Clan have been known to dissociate themselves with others, keeping their kingdom to themselves. We must consider that their ethic is to only get involved when it directly effects them-”

“-But it _does_ directly affect them!” Arthur protested, casting an exasperated look back at Aithusa and Kilgarrah who appeared to nod in agreement – pesky Dragons. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur leant a little closer towards the raven-haired man. “There’s something else bothering you, what is it?”

Merlin was relieved he never got the chance to reply, because right then the silver gates dramatically opened, revealing the rocky pathway over the large mountain crater towards the settlement. The blonde allowed is question to remain unanswered, more focused on what lay before them. Without hesitation, Merlin strode forwards, followed by Arthur. Any fears and doubts the pair had virtually _melted_ away when Queen Evanna greeted them halfway across the path. She had a loving quality to her smile, her eyes always full of compassion and kindness. Long dark curls framed her face.

“My Lady,” Arthur said smoothly, bowing his head.

Evanna mimicked the gesture, holding the edges of her deep purple gown up whilst she curtsied. Merlin watched the exchange proudly. Arthur _really had_ proven himself time and time again that he really was a true leader, that he possessed the necessary skills to become a _great_ Druid, revered by all. He studied Arthur’s attire fondly, unable to resist the smile that laced his lips. Arthur was wearing the navy blue cloak Merlin had made for his Eftboren ceremony. If only things had _stayed_ that way. That day had been perfect, an epitome of beauty. All the Druids had gathered, all had accepted Arthur; and Arthur had finally found the place he _truly_ belonged.

Turning to Queen Evanna, Merlin met her eyes; she gazed back. A man dressed in elaborate crimson robes emerged beside Evanna. Merlin swallowed-hard, sensing the shift in Evanna’s persona. Her smile faded, her eyes lost their vibrancy. It was hardly the _expected_ reaction a wife would have when seeing their husband. The man – Elätha – cast his eyes between the two strangers.

“Come,” he gestured, walking forwards, lightly tugging his wife along. “Let us discuss this somewhere private.”

To Merlin’s surprise, he quickly established that Elätha had _only_ been referring to _him._ The crestfallen look on Arthur’s face sent a surge of rage through the Druid. For a split second, he no longer _cared_ that whatever he said could heavily impact this negotiation. Fiercely he glanced back at Evanna, who smiled encouragingly, and that was enough. It was clear that Ghedent was not as perfect as it seemed, there were many problems rotting the core of this peaceful clan. Holding his ground, Merlin stood boldly beside Arthur. Arthur gaped at the druid.

“Not without Arthur Pendragon.” He declared, causing Elätha to halt in his tracks.

 _What are you doing you idiot?_ Arthur asked through his mind, casting Merlin a wild, confused look with his sapphire eyes. But Merlin wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were locked upon Elätha, the man who had suddenly become far more menacing than before. _Merlin, honestly, defending my honour is not wroth the risk of losing an entire Clan’s support._

It was evident Merlin was no longer listening to Arthur’s incessant mind-ramblings. Instead he spoke bravely.

“Arthur has every right to be part of this discussion. He has fought for the Druids; he has _freed_ thousands of Druids from the oppression of Camelot.“ Lifting his head brazenly, Merlin took a step towards Elätha, not allowing himself to be intimidated by the taller, bulkier man. “We are equals. Where I go, he goes.”

Elätha gazed contemplatively at Merlin  - _Emrys -_ and his loyal resolve before breaking into a dark peal of laughter. The reaction startled the Druid, and seemed to gravely upset the Queen. It appeared Merlin and Arthur were both missing something, a crucial element to this story. The man refrained from laughing, melancholy casting over his body. He slumped slightly, unable to look the visitors in the eye.

“My _son_ didn’t return.” At these words, Arthur felt an unpleasant shudder sliver up his spine, his blood run cold. He knew exactly who this man’s son was, it was the boy. The young boy who had died in Camelot Labs, too weak and deprived of energy to continue. Sighing, Arthur felt anguish overwhelm him. He had _tried_ everything he could. But Fate had decided in the end that there was no way of saving him. He was not the only casualty in the labs. Yet he would be the only face that haunted Arthur at night. Full of sorrow, the man slowly gazed over to the blonde. “You let him die.” Pause.

“You _let_ him DIE-”

Immediately Merlin sensed where this was going and outstretched his hand. The timing was immaculate, stunning Arthur for he was certain he would not have been able to predict so swiftly Elätha’s actions. As Elätha leapt forwards, blade in hand, Merlin dove for him, uttering a spell that carelessly tossed the sword out of reach. Narrowing his eyes, Merlin kept his hand out, eyes still glowing a majestic gold. Arthur absently reached for this sword, holding it before him warningly. The tension around the four figures was intense, and dangerous. From behind, Aithusa was beginning to growl, clearly unimpressed and infuriated by this exchange. Wisely, Kilgarrah remained cryptically quiet, urging her to do this same. This was a problem only Arthur and Merlin could solve. For a moment silence consumed them all. Then the man picked up the sword Merlin had cast out of his hands, eyes full of insatiable hunger. 

“We have come to you as allies,” Merlin stated, tone dripping in ferocity and authority. Suddenly, his voice became dark and menacing. “ _Don’t_ force us to leave as enemies.”

Evanna gazed pleadingly at the dark-haired man, speaking through her mind. Attempting to keep his eyes on the King of Ghedent, Merlin listened to her words.

_Please Emrys, our Clan is slowly crumbling. Elätha’s grief and rage has induced great suffering upon his people. You must help me. Help me retrieve the kind, brave man I once knew and loved. Only then can we follow you into battle and defeat Uther._

Quickly Merlin glanced over to the woman, allowing his mind to open and forge a response.

_My lady, I ensure you we will do all that we can to assist you…_

Whilst this mind-exchange was going on, a very different exchange was occurring between Arthur and the leader of the clan. They were now giving the other their full attention, blades drawn and clasped tightly. Arthur knew this man _really_ meant no ill; he was a leader, seeking to protect his own people from the horrors that had passed. He reminded Arthur of himself. The Arthur who fought selfishly for himself and for his own feelings. It had taken a while to understand that this was not honourable or a good idea. Then a _good idea_ entered Arthur’s head. Boldly, he took a step forwards and met Elätha’s emerald eyes sternly. Perhaps the only way to get the support of this Clan was to teach Eläthaall he had learnt, to try and make him _see._

Merlin barely _processed_ the ridiculous string of words that left Arthur’s mouth, too shocked to actually intercept and stop the prat from going through with it. The woman beside him reacted in a similar way, gasping as she gazed between the two men. Before either of them managed to find words and _protest,_ it was too late to object.

And that was how they winded up in the middle of the Ghedent Square. Arthur and Elätha with their swords drawn.

Ready to fight to the death.

Attempting to remain steady breathing, telling himself that Arthur would be _fine,_ Merlin gazed upon the sight in horror. Stupid _clotpole!_ He could not believe Arthur’s audacity. Had he learnt _nothing_ at all the past six months in Albion?! Challenging a _King_ was not a wise move. Especially considering swordsmanship was _not_ one of the areas Merlin had spent hours and hours mentoring Arthur in. Hell, Merlin wasn’t even _sure_ if Arthur _had_ adequate skills with a sword. It was an ancient instrument that required far more focus than just swinging it around or hoping to hit something with force. Anger swathed over his skin, anger at Arthur, and at Elätha – a _grown man_ at least twenty years older than Arthur – for allowing pride and unimportant values cloud their judgement.

Elätha took a step forwards; the clan members began to mumble to themselves, a few cheering out their leader’s name. It wasn’t _un_ common for leaders to spar – but usually it was just for _entertainment,_ not actually having political significance or putting another’s life at risk. The Druid’s didn’t fight like this. To be honest, Merlin was _extremely_ surprised at Elätha’s behaviour. The older man had many traits that counteracted that of a Druid. He only had to gaze over at Evanna who quickly interjected and declared that ‘No magic’ was to be used to figure it out.

Elätha had no magic.

Mentally scolding himself for not _sensing_ the lack of magic sooner, Merlin stared intently at the King. A Druid…a Druid _without magic –_ how was that even _possible?_ Every Druid was born with magic. Whilst some could do _great_ things with their gift, many had received a small token of Albion, only able to use magic for daily life and minute chores. Nonetheless, there never had been a Druid that didn’t have _any_ magic whatsoever. The mystical nature of Ghedent was beginning to make sense now, why they hid up in the mountains. A Leader who couldn’t wield magic was sure to bring disadvantages. Perhaps that was why the Clan had resorted to building a mighty empire in the mountains, out of reach and range from enemies or threats the forest may bring.

His curiosity was about to divert his attention from Arthur, which was something he could not afford to do. Standing beside Evanna, Merlin watched as the two men approached each other. There was stalemate; neither moved their blade. Waiting for the fight to commence was agonising. And even though Merlin understood Arthur’s reluctance to make the first blow, he found himself biting his tongue to stop him shouting out words of encouragement and frustration to do just that. Arthur slowly took a step to his left, watching as Elätha did the same. The pair circled each other, evidently waiting for the other to make a slip and provide opportunity.

It happened _so fast_ Merlin was certain not even _his magic_ could remember to slow time and allow him to see. One of them slipped, a ragged gasp sounded, then the sound of metal on metal. The swords began clanging together loudly, the noise of the crowd overwhelming. Both seemed unable to break the other’s defence. Elätha lunged forward; Arthur met it with a sharp slash that pushed the blade away. Then Arthur spun around and aimed for the shoulder, only to be met by Elätha’s blade. Growling, the blonde increased his ferocity and speed, continuing to hit the opponent’s sword with increased power.

Elätha stumbled, allowing Arthur _a perfect shot._ Merlin’s eyes widened, subconsciously leaning forwards.

Arthur didn’t take the shot.

 _Of course_ Arthur didn’t take the shot, this was _Arthur._ Merlin knew he wasn’t going to _really_ kill the King if he had a chance. But that didn’t matter, because there was no telling yet whether Elätha was also bluffing or was seriously considering ending Arthur’s life. Whatever his intention was, Merlin clenched his fist; he and Arthur had come too far for _one man_ to sabotage everything. If Elätha tried to kill Arthur, Merlin would kill Elätha without second thought. Simple. Well… _not simple._ That would be a high form of treason, and the pair would have to somehow escape a settlement of ten thousand angry Druids. Merlin gritted his teeth in vexation. Why could these things never be _simple?_

The fight continued with no clear winner for several minutes. Each man now dripping with sweat and beginning to show signs of fatigue, every few hits one of them would lose their footing or misplace their blade. It was horrifying to watch, especially when Arthur appeared to be the one consistently making the _most_ mistakes. Then it happened. Arthur _fell_ to the ground; his blade fell out of his hand.

There was no way he could reach it.

Elätha plunged is sword down. Arthur frantically rolled out of the way. _Shit._ This wasn’t how this was supposed to go! Searching for his sword, he narrowly missed another hit. His fingers scraped across his sword. Slowly he tugged it back into his hand. Only there was one problem. Elätha was now hovering over him, sword prodded hazardously against his chest. Swallowing-hard, he gazed up at the ruthless man. He could _feel_ Merlin’s magic bubbling, the Druid coming into his peripheral vision. He was conjuring a _spell_ goddamit! Merlin was going to strike Elätha and ruin any chance they had at forging an agreement. Although arguably, Arthur had already sabotaged that prospect. Arthur had to _do something,_ think of _something_ because in a few seconds death would be inevitable.

Either _he_ would be dead, or Merlin would be dead because _he_ was dead and had killed Elätha. Or Merlin _and_ himself would be dead because Merlin had unleashed his magic protectively and reacted before Arthur could. None of these options were viable; especially considering the Ealden Uprising was under way.

 _Do you trust me?_ He said into Merlin’s head, not averting his eyes from the blade pressed against his shirt. The Druid in his peripheral vision appeared to be struggling with his composure. _Merlin. If you trust me please, let me finish this-_

_-He’s going to kill you._

Refusing to reply to that grim sentence, Arthur gazed into Elätha’s eyes courageously. Then he broke into action, stunning the crowd and Merlin. Suddenly everything was turned on its head. Arthur was standing over Elätha, sword pressed against _his_ chest. And the brilliant thing was that Merlin had _absolutely_ no idea how on earth Arthur had just done that, because it seemed virtually _impossible._ A soft smile framed his lips; he soothingly clasped Evanna’s shoulders.

“You have let your emotions cloud your judgement,” Arthur explained to the man below him. “You have not been the leader the people of Ghedent deserve. They deserve a man who will not fight for selfish means, a man who will not be blinded by hatred and his own personal loss.” Elätha glared at Arthur, attempting to struggle out of the compromising position. It was _embarrassing,_ to be defeated by a _Pendragon_ of all things in front of his own people. He was unsuccessful. Arthur crouched down to his side, maintaining the sword at Elätha’s chest. Eyes softening, Arthur frowned.

“I cannot stop you from continuing to lead your people this way, for I will not take the life of a fellow Druid.” Elätha narrowed his eyes at the statement, obviously confused by his choice of words, in particular ‘fellow Druid’. Removing the sword from the man’s chest, Arthur gazed intently at Elätha. This was the greatest gesture of trust seeing as Elätha _still_ had a blade in his hand and could easily strike Arthur down. “But I _can_ offer my deepest condolences for the loss of your son, and ask for clemency.” Pause. “Your son was strong; he fought valiantly in the labs against a great evil. If you seek vengeance, seek to do your son proud and follow in his name,” Standing up Arthur looked down at the man. “Then you should know that you’re fighting the wrong Pendragon.”

Tears in his eyes, Merlin watched the scene in awe. The People of Ghedent were quiet, also transfixed on the events passing. Then Arthur did something brave, something _loyal._ He outstretched his _hand,_ offering it to the fallen King.

“Join us, _help us_ save Albion from its greatest undoing.” Elätha stared at the hand questioningly, making no clear movement. “All you have to do is take my hand.”

And Elätha did.

**♦☼♦**

Nightfall arrived quicker than expected, sweeping over the land in one swift motion. Up here in Ghedent, the sky was beautiful. The stars seemed closer to earth than ever, wisps of cloud passing over the silver moon. Merlin understood why Ghedent was also known as Steorscéawere, the place where prophecies were made. It was where the great Scéaweres read the meanings embedded in the stars, the place where the stars were _never_ concealed.

The jagged and treacherous mountain range were a great challenge to fly through, even _with_ magic and the enhanced sight Dragon’s had. Attempting this in the _dark –_ that was a completely different story. The fact that Kilgarrah seemed reluctant to make the journey indicated that it was not the best idea. Thus, Merlin politely accepted Evanna’s offer to stay in Ghedent. Ghedent was different to Ealdor not only in terms of society, but also due to the structure of this great city. Buildings _were_ required, mainly because the conditions in these mountains were extreme. The nights were horrendously cold.

Therefore, each Druid lived in a house made from the strong sturdy mountain stone. These houses overlooked the great home where Evanna and Elätha lived. To Arthur’s eyes it resembled a castle, only it shimmered with magic and appeared far less of a hierarchical structure than it was in his old world. He and Merlin were sat in the room Queen Evanna and Elätha had provided for them, the small embers of a fire adding a hypnotic glow to their surroundings.

“I’m proud of you, you know.” Merlin muttered to Arthur, gazing out the window to ensure Aithusa and Kilgarrah were sound outside. When he was sure they were content, and still heard no response from Arthur, he spun around to face the blonde man. “Don’t get me wrong, at first I thought you were just acting like a complete _prat.”_

At these words a smile tugged over Arthur’s lips, pleased to hear that ridiculous insult again. He glanced up to Merlin for a moment, unsure whether he should make a quick, sarcastic remark or accept his criticism. The fact that he was _deliberating_ how to respond to Merlin was something he hated. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy re-constructing the path they had built, the friendship that had blossomed into something more. Frowning, Merlin sat down beside Arthur, reaching for his hand. Arthur mentally scolded himself for being so damn obvious.

“Arthur,” he sighed. “Look at me.” Obediently, Arthur lifted his sapphire eyes to Merlin’s face. He struggled to maintain the eye contact, uncomfortable and unsure of himself. Searching his eyes carefully, Merlin found what he was looking for embedded beneath his calm façade. When Arthur broke the eye contact, gazing down into his hands, well that was enough proof for Merlin. His suspicions became truth once he delved into Arthur’s unprotected mind.

What he found _hurt._

Arthur truly _still_ believed, even after Merlin had drawn him into his arms and _kissed him_ all those days ago, that he hated him.

“I thought I told you to keep your thoughts well-guarded.” He breathed, an uncontrollable wave of panic flashing over his eyes.  The words rushed off his skin and releasing the swell of emotions, Arthur _had to_ understand. Urgently, he leant towards Arthur.

“I _never_ hated you.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips at the memory of the ambush. Tears framed his eyes. “Even as the Crystal Cave crumbled to oblivion and my father died, I couldn’t hate you. Of course I _thought_ I hated you. But then when I realised I _didn’t_ I…I panicked. How could I _not_ hate you after everything your father had just done?” pause. “So I did the only thing I could, I pushed you away-”

“-You threatened to kill me.” Arthur corrected bluntly, going back to that dismal day. The flames had consumed Ealdor. Everything was dark, black, ruined. He couldn’t forget the pure _anger_ in Merlin’s eyes as he screamed and banished him from Albion.  

Not believing what he was hearing, Merlin cupped Arthur’s face with his hands, forcing the man to look him in the eyes. Swallowing-hard, he spoke.

“You actually _believed_ me _? Arthur,_ we all say things we don’t mean when we’re angry. You of _all_ people know that.” Arthur’s vacant expression faltered at those words, very well knowing what Merlin was implying. “You have to _accept_ that I understand _why_ you couldn’t tell me. I forgave you a long time ago; I was just too scared of what the consequences would be, if I admitted it.” Sigh. “I _needed_ to be strong for my People, I had a responsibility to lead them to safety and you weren’t exactly _safe.”_

Pulling out the Merlin bird necklace, Arthur traced his fingers over it.

“I really was… _lost_ without you, you know.” He inhaled a deep breath. “I became _delirious,_ acting like a mindless psychopath. I didn’t know _what_ to do, where to _go._ For six months I had done _everything_ with you, and then suddenly it was all gone.” It was _all gone._ Merlin instantly comprehended Arthur’s words. It was no doubt a shock, to have everything he had earned stripped away. Now, a week later, it was all back. Arthur’s thoughts echoed Merlin’s sentiments a few days ago, that it was all somehow too good to be true.

Smiling wistfully, Merlin lowered his hands to smooth over the delicate necklace.

“You and I…we are like two sides of the same coin, each a half that makes the whole.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like the _Dragons.”_ Arthur groaned, a genuine amusement flickering over his features for a moment. It sparked hope in Merlin. On the subject of Dragons, Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“How _did_ you find Aithusa?” he asked, still baffled by how he had tamed the great creature without powers of a Dragonlord.

“Sorry, can’t tell you that.” Arthur replied rather childishly, beginning to resemble his usual self.

“You know,” Merlin attempted to keep his lips in a stern line. “You really should know by _now_ that keeping secrets from me is a bad idea.” The twitch of his lips and twinkling in his eyes undermined his serious tone.

“Shut-up _Mer_ lin.” Grinning, Arthur gently bumped Merlin’s shoulder.

“You’re such a _prat!”_ Merlin exclaimed, slightly frustrated that Arthur wouldn’t answer the simple question but delighted the man he knew was finally returning.

“I know, you’ve told me _many_ times.” He jibed.

“And yet _still_ you never learn!” the remark resulted in another playful shove. Chuckling, Merlin nudged him back. “Although, I have to admit today, it seems you _did_ learn. You used all of your skills and knowledge to turn a potential threat into a strong ally.”

“Elätha was never a threat,” Arthur scoffed at the words, striding over to the bed and dramatically falling onto it. Blinking at the statement, Merlin stood, gesturing for some kind of explanation. “He just needed to realise what exactly he was fighting for. The man wasn’t going to kill me, even when he had the blade at my chest. I saw it in his eyes.” Gazing up at Merlin, he frowned. “He reminded me of _myself.”_

“That’s very…deep.” Merlin offered meekly, now standing beside the large bed.

“I’m insulted that you seem surprised.” Arthur chided back with a smirk.

Climbing into the bed, Merlin smiled openly at the man.  

“You never _stop_ surprising me Arthur.” The words had a little more seriousness to them than intended, fondness swathed between each word.

Arthur adamantly pressed his lips to Merlin’s, and it was at this moment that _both_ of them truly knew that they were going to be just fine. The road to a free Albion was long and full of danger. But it was achievable, because they were finally united and prepared to face the future. Reopening his eyes, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes, hoping the dreamy expression on his face had wilted before the blonde caught sight of it and taunted him _forever_.

“We have a _long_ day tomorrow, get some rest.”

Arthur drew the man closer, wrapping his arms around him.

“Yes, _Folctogan.”_ he teased against Merlin’s skin.

For a moment they both stared at each other, amusement evident. Then a burst of laughter escaped Merlin’s lips. All the memories associated with that word poured out through his crinkled eyes, filling the room with colossal warmth and happiness. 


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big battle is coming... but first, poor Merlin has some demons to face, some secrets to reveal...

Ten days had passed and as planned, the clans _had_ come. In fact, every single clan they went to had followed them back. Despite some being less reluctant to, they all had. Merlin’s mind flickered back to some of more interesting encounters, particularly Ghedent. Iseldir was hesitant to accept when his eyes met Arthur Pendragon. But when young Mordred insisted that the blonde man had saved his life, the Čeirda Clan swiftly followed Merlin and Arthur to the Druid camp. Merlin tried to forget the look of sheer _horror_ on Kilgarrah’s face at the mention of Mordred. Nonetheless, he assumed that if it was something important, the Dragon would confide in him and reveal what he was hiding.

The Balegkor clan, and Laísrean of the Œpontei clan had also led their people to Iaonem. Now Iaonem was bustling with thousands of Druids, and many more were coming. Merlin could _feel_ them coming over the horizon. The sun had progressed into a beautiful orange shade, beginning to slip over the horizon beneath the picturesque landscape.

A vast array of characters were now here. Merlin could never forget the look on Will’s face when the dark-haired woman emerged from the forests with Eloŵen of Serepolis.  It was the first time he had smiled in _days._ Freya was not the only old friend Merlin had been reunited with. Gilli was among the many that followed Topia here. Hogań and Gŭaire from Ghedent had immediately befriended Gwaine, taking part in mischievous pranks and keeping the children distracted. Out of all the people that had come to Iaonem, there was one reunion that had _truly_ touched his heart.

Alys and Gaius.

Merlin could hardly control his giddy grin when Gaius had gently pressed his lips against hers and drawn her into his arms. It was clear the two loved each other very much. Nonetheless, a fond smirk slipped onto his lips, who’d have known that _Gaius_ had a love interest, even at _his_ age?

“Merlin you can wipe that smirk off your face this instance.” None other than Gaius said sternly, sitting down beside the young Druid.

Scratching his forehead, Merlin’s smirk grew until a burst of laughter left his lips. The past few days had been the happiest of his _life._ The whole Druid community was coming together, breathing together, living together. The first night Serepolis and Dresdentian arrived, they had enjoyed an evening of ancient Druid song and dance. Despite the looming war ahead, there was merriment and a raw content aura filling up Iaonem. Merlin understood why, as leader of his People. They wanted to cherish the next few days, because it may well be their last. There was no telling what would happen.

Merlin’s eyes met Arthur across the clearing. The blonde was sitting with Gwen, Leon, Gwaine and Lance, clearly animatedly retelling the story of Ghedent. He was dramatically swinging his sword around. From this distance, certain phrases could be picked out.

“Merlin’s having a _hissy_ fit,” Arthur gazed over to where the Druid was sitting, winking in amusement towards him before turning back to the others. Merlin rolled his eyes, the _prat._ “He doesn’t think that I can beat Elätha, but _then_ I- _”_

A surge of laughter swept across the group when Elätha’s sword hit his own, insisting on retelling the story a little more truthfully. The abashed look on Arthur’s face really _was_ a picture, causing Merlin to snigger. Turning to Gaius, who was on the verge of looking healthy and well again, Merlin realised he had neglected the man’s attention. So he smiled. Gaius being Gaius saw right through it.

“Something troubling you dear boy?” he asked. Merlin knew better than to believe that this was _actually_ a question. 

Glancing back towards Arthur, he frowned.

“Arthur does not know the full extent of his destiny.” He admitted bleakly, raking a hand through his hair. “But I fear he will not be able to _comprehend_ the gravity of what I have kept from him all this time.”

Raising _one_ eyebrow, Gaius gently patted Merlin knowingly on the shoulder.

“Perhaps you should deal with one thing at a time and speak to Morgana first.” Eyes wide, Merlin swallowed-hard. His one chance of pretending he didn’t know what Gaius meant was ruined by his lack of composure. Morgana. The seer. Merlin hadn’t spoken to her since her arrival…he’d barely _seen her._ Did she _know?_ Was she somehow avoiding him on purpose? Merlin felt an unpleasant shudder wreck his body as Morgana sauntered over to where the collection of friends and some other Druids were sitting. She was grinning at Arthur, clearly teasing him in some way or another. But Merlin could see it, her eyes were tired, her face was pale, and dark rims threatened to underline her eyes. 

“She has been having visions,” Gaius pressed a small vial into Merlin’s hands. Gazing down at the vial, Merlin furrowed his brow. “This will help her sleep.”

“You want _me_ to give it to her?” Merlin gasped, stunned at the proposal.

Sighing, Gaius studied the young man before him pensively.

“I believe you should ask to speak with her about her magic.” Before Merlin could protest or justify his reasoning, the man continued. “Whatever reason you had to keep this from her Merlin, it is no longer valid. _Uther_ and his men are coming. If anything, you should help Morgana harness her gifts. A seer of her abilities could be extremely useful.”

It appeared Merlin underestimated Morgana’s powers, foolishly overlooked her gifts in order to ensure she was safe in Camelot Base. In hindsight, that didn’t seem _fair_ or right at all. It wasn’t _his_ decision to make; Morgana _should_ have been the one to decide how to handle her talents. Gaius studied Merlin’s troubled expression; this was the problem with the young man. His compassion and care for others sometimes led him to make irrational decisions, believing that he was doing _good_ when really it added further complications to the picture. Gaius didn’t blame Merlin. Merlin was infinitely wise, but _still growing._ Making these mistakes would shape him into the revered leader he would become.

“I did it to _protect her_ Gaius.” Merlin whispered drearily, running a hand over his face. “I never meant to cause her _any pain_ or make her feel like an outsider. I-”

A smooth saccharine voice nervously interrupted his words.

“-Merlin.”

Merlin knew without looking exactly who this person was. He remained motionless for moment, unable to react. Then bravely, he inhaled a deep breath. Looking into their eyes, he frowned. Her face was pallid, her complexion sickly. Her hypnotic green eyes resonating profound fear, _hurt._ Dark black curls framed her beautiful face, draping down to her shoulders. Overall, she seemed troubled; anxious. Swallowing-hard, Merlin got to his feet, beginning to walk towards a more private location. The woman followed without question, ducking underneath the thick branches of the giant tree. After walking in silence for a few minutes, Merlin seemed content with the small, empty clearing. The voices of the Druids were muffled in the distance, the large stones around them sheltering them from any intrusions.

He finally turned around to face her, holding the vial in his hands out towards her nervously.

“This will help.” He muttered weakly, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears from betraying his resolve.

The worst part of _all_ of this was Morgana’s expression. She wasn’t angry. Morgana was immensely _sad._ Just gazing into her eyes for a second, Merlin could _feel_ the emotions that seared through her skin. He felt the cold shudder of isolation, the sting of rejection, the _tears_ of confusion and anguish rolling down his cheeks. To think she had felt _all of this_ even without knowing she had magic. Gaius was right. Of course Gaius was right. He should have _never_ denied Morgana the truth. Even if at the time it seemed like the best option, there would have been a way to solve it, to ensure her safety within Camelot. Leaving her alienated, _afraid –_ that was not kind at all. Making no move to wipe the tears from his face, Merlin continued to study her eyes, lips trembling.

Morgana stared vacantly back before reluctantly taking the vial from him, clasping it in her hands tightly. Her weary eyes never left Merlin’s face, lips parted to gesture the formation of words – but none sounded. They remained this way for a few more seconds, mirroring each other’s dismal expressions, unsure what to say. Then, the dark-haired woman smiled sadly, a dejected laugh escaping her lips. Merlin clasped his eyes shut at the sound, _hating_ the way it echoed in his mind.

“I know what you _did_ Merlin.” Her smooth voice became a hiss, shaking through Merlin’s body.

Averting his eyes, Merlin sighed. He pressed a hand feebly against his eyes, wiping the moisture away. The words he _wanted_ to say became lodged in his throat, causing a painful, agonising swelling. It took many attempts to free the words. When he managed, his voice was low and quiet, full of remorse and guilt.

“I didn’t _want to.”_ His solemn admission received another laugh, one far too full of positive emotions for his liking. Titling her head to the side, Morgana replied.

“I _understand_ why you did it.” She took a step towards him slowly, surely. Confusion dusted over Merlin’s face, his eyebrows drawn together. Morgana _understood_ his reasoning. “You wanted to protect me from Uther.” It was then he realised that she was mocking him, the dark bite in her voice slithering through his ears.

Flinching from the abrupt shift in tone, Merlin gazed fiercely back into her pensive eyes. He had to make her realise that he _had_ done what he thought was right, because out of _everyone,_ she was the one person he had greatly failed, terribly wronged. And he was unsure what the repercussions of his actions _truly_ were. Evidently Morgana was here, ready to fight against Uther Pendragon and everything he stood for. But what would she do next? Raking his finger through his hair, Merlin sighed.

“I did what I thought was _right._ If I told you the truth, you would have been trapped inside Camelot, full of fear-”

“-You think I didn’t _feel_ that way anyway?” Morgana interjected, in despair. “With Arthur gone, and the only people I could trust spending every day in Ealdor?”

“-There was _no place_ for you in Ealdor,” Merlin admitted forlornly, knowing that this statement would probably ignite the flame back into her eyes. Hearing this admission aloud _honestly_ hurt his already aching heart. “Albion was not _ready_ for you-” that infuriated the woman.

“-Just because you’re _Emrys,_ it didn’t give you the right to decide my fate!” she snapped, face inches from his. The upset trickling down her face morphed into exasperation. “Merlin, for _fifteen_ years, I was told to believe that my visions were nothing more than dreams. But that’s not the worst part,” challengingly, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. “When I needed the _truth_ the most _,_ you gave me nothing but a lie.”

When she needed the truth the most, he gave her nothing but a lie. The bold accusation whirled around Merlin’s head. He had _deprived_ her of the life she deserved. Suddenly, everything came into perspective. Whilst Arthur Pendragon, Gwaine and the rest of the guys were in Ealdor, Morgana had been in Camelot Base. Whilst _Arthur Pendragon_ himself was practising Magic and learning spells, Morgana was crying herself to sleep, hoping the antidote Merlin had given her for the Fruten bites would _actually_ work. Eyes widening in realisation, Merlin turned to her.

“…Your visions continued.” He sounded more surprised than anything else. His _magic_ should have stopped the nightmares, should have harnessed the magic she had inside. It hadn’t, which was both intriguing and worrying. Morgana didn’t reply, a confirmation of his suspicions. For all this time, she had _still_ been having nightmares, only she trusted Merlin enough to believe they were insignificant. “I’m truly sorry Morgana.” He choked, ducking his head ashamedly, knowing it wasn’t enough.

Pause.

“You are supposed to represent _everything_ the Druids stand for Merlin. So trust me on this one thing; denying people of their gifts, not allowing them a _choice…”_ smiling weakly she reached for his hand. “You will create far more enemies than friends.”

It was the first time Morgana could see the youth inside of Merlin, the first time she had acknowledge just _how young_ and inexperienced he was. His knowledge of the world was not yet infinite, he was _barely_ a man. Now, tears leaking from his sapphire eyes, face full of raw emotions and dread, he resembled a lost child, so wrapped in his own turmoil he was unsure what to do. Realising her mistake, she frowned.

“But who am I to judge?” she asked. “You had to make a decision, you had to do what you thought was right.”  

A brittle laugh escaped his lips, tainted in despondency.

“You don’t know _how hard_ it is to…to be…a hero.” he whispered wearily, “a hero that has not yet proven their _worth,_ a hero who is not a hero because of his actions, but because of his name.” Taking a step backwards, he solemnly to turned to face the wall of jagged stone.

“There are times,” breathing in deeply, he clamped his eyes shut, embracing the darkness. “When I hear that name and believe that it simply cannot be.” Pacing back and forth, he held a hand to his head. “Perhaps somebody got the prophecy wrong and _Emrys_ was never supposed to be my name. There are times when I wonder _why_ or _how_ it came to be my name. Was that name _given to me,_ or was it always mine?” abruptly he stopped pacing, hand still pressed against his throbbing temple.

“Worst of all,” he shook his head, biting his lip at a feeble attempt to hide the turmoil. “ _Worst_ of all, there are times when I feel the weight of my destiny, _crushing me.”_  

Merlin’s voice was so full of turmoil and despair, so drenched in melancholy and darkness that it _scared_ Morgana. If _anybody_ else witnessed this profound doubt, this terrifying defeatist behaviour – the resistance would panic. Merlin was the beacon; he had to remain strong for his People. She fiddled absently with her hands, staring at the back of his head in bewilderment as if she had discovered something unexpected.

“I don’t doubt that.” she cooed, sympathy and kindness etched into her voice, and honestly Merlin didn’t know _what_ he’d done to deserve that from Morgana. All he’d done was manipulate her. A hand pressed against his shoulder tightly, forcing him to spin around. As he did, he saw a flicker of hope in her eyes. “I have seen what you will face, I have seen what lies ahead for you, for Arthur, for _all of us_.”

“Morgana…” he breathed, unable to _contemplate_ what that knowledge would do a single person. Just _one_ look into the future had completely shaken him for _weeks,_ left him agitated and restless. And he had gazed into the Crystals for less than a minute. Morgana saw things every night; she saw the _future_ without the aid of the Crystals. The dreams came to her without her consent, plaguing her nights and tormenting her days. His thoughts were interrupted by her voice.

“I want to help Merlin.” She explained courageously. “If I could learn how to control my powers, to _chose_ what I can see then we may have a chance of surprising Uther.”

“Your powers are not something that can simply be moulded into a weapon of war Morgana,” Merlin said darkly, clearly uncertain about her implications. Noticing her confusion, he continued. “Seeing the future is not…I mean it…” rolling his eyes in frustration at being incapable of finding the right words, Merlin pursed his lips tightly together. There was a moment of prolonged silence before he spoke again. This time he spoke sternly with intent and clear concern.

“There is a _reason_ why nobody ever sees the great seers and soothsayers of Albion. They become so _fixated_ on the future, so adamant in re-shaping the past that they forget about the _present_. They do not live, they dream. They dream until dreaming is all they know. What they see consumes them until they see _nothing else_ , until it is _impossible_ to see anything else.” Swallowing-hard, Merlin pleadingly gazed towards her. It was a look of desperation, his final plea for her to ignore the call of magic. “The gift a Seer possesses comes at a great price, like all great power.” Clutching her shoulders tightly, he leant towards her. “I…I can’t _help you.”_ Gritting his teeth he bowed his head in an attempt to hide his discomposure. “I will not turn you into one of them.”

Releasing herself from his grip viciously, Morgana scowled at him in disbelief.

“You _still_ think that you can deny me what is as natural to me as _breathing?”_ He looked away from her, trying to conceal his upset. “My powers could potentially help us _win_ this fight, and you’re telling me _not to use them._ How is me using my gifts any different to _you_ using yours?” lowering her voice, she continued. “It’s for the greater good, to _save_ everything we hold dear. Please Merlin; _I beg you,_ don’t let your concern for my personal welfare weaken our forces. I am an adult.” Lifting her head determinedly, she shot him an intense look. “I can make my own decisions.”

Meeting her eyes, Merlin cupped his mouth, obviously troubled by this conversation. No matter what he said, Morgana was going to pursue her gifts. And he didn’t blame her. Magic was _part_ of her; it had bound itself to soul. It would forever haunt her, either in this raw, untamed form or in a way that could aid others, reveal the future when it really mattered. Nonetheless, he would not be the one to lead her down this route. Not only because he knew nothing about Seers, but because the life of a Seer was forever troubled. He could not be the one to personally bring this upon her. After a moment of debating what the hell he should do, Merlin broke his resolve.

Yes, Gaius was right, Morgana was _right._ The fight against Uther was not going to be _easy._ They could use all the help they could get. It was Morgana’s own choice as to what she did. Strength was not the only force required to defeat Uther. Other elements would be extremely useful. When Morgana shot him another questioning look, more ferocious, he finally spoke.

“I cannot help you.” Pause. He watched devastation wash over Morgana’s skin, her composure crumbling. “But there are those who can.” At these words, she lifted her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “Taliesin understands the realm of prophecy far greater than I do. He has spent many years deciphering the Crystals of Ealdor. Iseldir and Aglain of the Čeirda Clan have also worked with Seers before and may be able to help control your powers.”

Beaming, Morgana wrapped her arms around Merlin.

“I will not forget this Merlin.” She whispered against his neck. Withdrawing from the embrace, she stared into his eyes earnestly. “Thank you.”

With that, Merlin began to walk towards the edge of the small clearing. He thought he’d made it out almost unscathed, until her voice rang out once more.

“What’s your great price Emrys?” she asked inquisitively, causing him to halt in his tracks. Shutting his eyes, Merlin remained silent, disliking the fact she had called him by this name. In fact he disliked _everything_ this conversation had led to, but she was his friend. All that he _could_ do was support her. He was certain, if in her position, he would have done the same. And once he had come to that conclusion, he knew. He could never alter Morgana’s path, he could stall it, _delay_ it. But it was clear-cut, like his own; like Arthur’s.

“The most powerful warlock of _all time,_ you must have the biggest price to pay in exchange.”

Not turning to face her, he grimaced.

“I don’t know.” He sighed rather agitatedly. Gazing over his shoulder, a hesitant smile slipped over his face. “But if you ever so happen to see, be sure not to tell me.” Pause. “There are some things a man should never know.”

Merlin swiftly left her presence, briskly walking through the crowds of Druids. His eyes refused to make contact with those he passed. He smiled politely when he saw people looking in his peripheral vision. People believed in him. Suddenly a pair of arms wrestled him to the right. Startled and unprepared, Merlin felt relief swathe over him when he met Arthur’s kind eyes.

“What’s wrong Merlin?”

Blinking in surprise, Merlin gazed at the blonde man. He failed to understand how he was so attuned to his emotions, how he could instantly _sense_ something was amiss.

“Nothing.” He replied blandly, causing Arthur to glare at him.

“It’s something.” Arthur prompted, expecting the man to reveal what was troubling him. However, to his astonishment, he _continued_ the façade. 

“It _is_ nothing.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Arthur pouted in frustration.

“Nothing my _arse_ -”

“-You _are_ an arse!” Merlin replied rather childishly, not daring to look over at Morgana as she walked past them. Amused by the pathetic insult, Arthur’s fond eyes studied his face cautiously. Biting his lip, stunned by his own outburst, Merlin apologetically reached for Arthur’s hands. “Oh Arthur, god I’m _sorry._ I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“I know.” The blonde replied, kissing Merlin’s hands soothingly and then gently caressing the palms with his thumbs. “The past few days have been exhausting, gathering the clans was far _harder_ than the Naiimen Legends stated.” He admitted in a soft, lulling voice. “But they _have_ come Merlin, so please smile. Be happy. I haven’t seen you smile _properly_ for days.”

Humming in agreement, Merlin offered him a small smile. Arthur was almost _insulted_ by the gesture. Did he honestly think that Arthur didn’t know by now when his smiles were genuine or not? Before he could question it, Merlin spoke.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” He admitted. “This is one of the single most important events in the history of Albion. This is the _turning point,_ the chance to save our world, or lose it to the hands of your father.” Silence.  

Arthur knew by now that if Merlin was not ready to discuss something, he _would_ in due course. It was better not to pry and create conflict with the one person he had _finally_ reconciled everything with than risk losing it all again. Merlin had told him what was on his mind, but it wasn’t what _really_ was troubling his heart. It hurt. Yet Arthur knew despite their reconciliation, things would not return to how they were instantly. Forcing a smile, he patted the man’s back and changed the subject.  

“Let’s not talk about my father until tomorrow Merlin, tonight we will be in the company of good friends, faithful allies. _Everyone_ is looking for you,” gesturing over towards the large fire burning in the middle of Iaonem, Arthur tugged the man forwards. “Uaine, Topia, Evanna,” a groan escaped his lips. “ _Zelina._ It appears your Dragonlord stunt has left her completely enamoured.”

Chuckling, Merlin turned to the blonde man in amusement. For a second he allowed himself the liberty to indulge in Arthur’s company. Arthur was _relieved_ when he saw Merlin’s shoulder slump, the tension in his muscles slowly whither away.

“She’s not the _only one_.” He raised his eyebrows teasingly; Arthur’s cheeks flushed instantly. He knew exactly what Merlin was referring to.

“Don’t be _ridiculous.”_ Arthur spat back quickly, giving Merlin a gentle push.

Grinning rather smugly, smugly of _all things,_ Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he calculated, leaning towards Arthur, lowering his voice. “When I speak in the Dragon-tongue, and assert my authority.” He drew out every word tauntingly, watching Arthur’s eyes attentively for the subtle changes of colour and vibrancy as the flames flickered behind them. “You like it.”

“You’re _insufferable.”_ Arthur exhaled with a laugh; not once breaking the eye contact as if he hoped it would prove his point. To his disappointment, Merlin rose to the challenge. His eyes flashed gold as he leant towards the man’s ear.

“Arfuera, ic cufte cweðan _awiht,”_ he extended his vowels, smirking when Arthur shuddered.“ðu áfindest tðjniniende.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur’s lips, smiling into his eyes. Arthur smiled back, cheeks still slightly flushed.

**♦☼♦**

“You really are a wonder Merlin.” Arthur mused as they finally walked towards the fire.

Many of the people sat around the fire were from Ealdor or Camelot; Gwaine, Leon, Lance, Gwen, Calhoun, Hunith, Zelina, Willow. A few others had joined them; Topia, Uaine, Evanna and Laurys. Perched on the outskirts of the circle was Kilgarrah and Aithusa. Aithusa was blissfully sleeping by the warmth of the flames. The Golden Dragon was wide awake, gazing at Merlin with eyes that unnerved the young Dragonlord. Merlin frowned when he noticed that _William_ was not here amongst the group of friends. When was that imbecile going to _accept_ Arthur and stop acting like a complete child?! A familiar, mischievous voice broke him from his thoughts.

“Oi you two, you’re making me _sick_ with your PDAs.” Gwaine remarked, smirking over at Arthur and Merlin. The pair grinned back at him sheepishly, Arthur less abashed than Merlin. He then turned to Lancelot and Gwen. “You _too.”_

“It’s okay Gwaine,” Zelina mused, inching towards him deviously.

Merlin and Arthur exchanged amused glances, watching Zelina attempt to rest her head upon his shoulders. Typical _Zelina._ Gwaine subtly wriggled out of her grasp, making an excuse to quickly flee the area before it was too late. Merlin was certain all the colour drained from his face when none other than Morgana took his place. He prayed Arthur wasn’t looking at him right now, because he was sure he could not conceal the torment on his face. She caught his eye for a moment before turning to Leon.

To Merlin’s relief, Bregurófne and Léohte chose this moment to join the warmth of the fire, distracting Arthur from Merlin’s subdued demeanour. The Wyvern strode towards Arthur, nuzzling its face against his shirt affectionately. Léohte lay down beside Merlin’s feet, content to be reunited with her rider after his constant departures with the Dragons. Merlin _had_ told her many times that it was nothing personal, and he still belonged to her. But he knew the silver Wyvern was slightly envious of Kilgarrah. Perched on top of Bregurófne‘s head was the familiar fluffy red bird; Ábilgest.

“I’m surprised you’re still alive.” He scorned, eyeing his Wyvern curiously. “Many times I’ve seen Bregurófne look at you as if you were nothing but a meal.”

Those ridiculously cute lilac eyes widened in disapproval. Ábilgest lightly pecked the Wyvern on the head with its beak. Instantly it regretted its decision, falling into Arthur’s hands as Bregurófne growled. A laugh escaped Arthur’s lips gently stroked the bird’s red feathers. Calhoun rushed over from Gwen’s arms towards the blonde, demanding to hold the bird in his hands. Smiling tenderly at the boy, Gwen squeezed Lancelot’s hand, content with this one perfect moment. Ábilgest in hand, Calhoun rushed over to the pair excitedly, proudly holding the bird out to them. Topia gazed over at Arthur contemplatively.

“You have a great connection with the creatures of Albion.” She seemed fascinated, casting Merlin a look before meeting Arthur’s eyes. “They all revere and respect you, _Aithusa_ enough to heed your call and come to your aid despite not being a Dragonlord.”

Laurys nodded in response.

“In Dresdentian, it is very rare for even our own Wyverns to dwell in our presence.” A smile touched his lips. “It is a blessing to see that the People of Ealdor have maintained their connection with these creatures.”

“We are all but children of Albion, people and creatures alike.” Arthur replied rather wisely from across the fire. His words kindled Merlin’s proud smile.

“Yes. But there’s something about _you,_ you are special Arthur.” At Topia’s words, Merlin’s expression faltered; he shot her an intense look, eyes darkening. The woman was shocked at his actions, confirming her fears. Emrys had not yet _told_ Arthur. Narrowing his eyes at the woman’s words, Arthur pensively stirred over the words. What on earth did she mean by that?

“As is Merlin.” She swiftly added, to avoid his questions. Merlin relaxed instantly, easing into the atmosphere once again.

“ _Please.”_ Morgana chided beside Leon, a smirk dusting her face. “Don’t flatter my dear brother. I fear his head is already far _too big.”_

“You just _had_ to ruin the moment didn’t you Morgana?” Arthur spat, failing to conceal his own smirk.

“Well we can’t expect Merlin to keep you in your place _all the time_ , it’s not _fair_ on him.” At her words Leon and Lancelot laughed. Merlin gazed over to her, forcing a smile as she tilted her head coyly towards her brother. Despite the humour embedded within these words, Merlin found he could not overlook what she was insinuating. Arthur rose to the bait and was now fully engaged in sparing with his sister.

As the fire crackled in the center of the circle, smaller conversations began emerge. Some of the Druids took the break of one mutual discussion as a cue to retire for the evening. Merlin took this moment to _stupidly_ gaze over at Kilgarrah, who looked unimpressed and sceptical. Clasping his hands together, he stared intensely at the Dragon, irritated. No doubt _Kilgarrah_ felt he had something to say. The Dragon had made it his _business_ to criticise almost every decision he had made in his presence. Clearing his mind, he focused his attention on the creature, not wanting to create a scene by walking away for _another_ private discussion.

 _What is it?_ He asked in his mind, voice enfolded with a feigned nonchalance.  

Kilgarrah pushed its body a little closer to the flames, stretching its wing comfortingly over the younger White Dragon. Then it turned curiously back to the young man, _amused_ even. The twinkle in those golden eyes unnerved Merlin. Fiddling with his hands, he leant forwards. If Kilgarrah had something to say, he wasn’t stopping him from speaking his mind.

 _Asecgan mé, Dræɡən._ He commanded with determination, watching the way Kilgarrah stirred angrily at the words. It was evident the creature disliked being _ordered_ what to say. But Merlin was a Dragonlord. If Kilgarrah was going to play games and sit there smirking at him, then Merlin had no choice but to coax it out of him through unjust means. Seconds later, the smooth, wise voice of the Dragon rushed into his mind.

_Do not be so quick to think that this battle will be your only struggle to secure Albion’s safety. There are many threats that you will have to face along the way._

Swallowing-hard, Merlin absently toyed with a small twig on the ground, breaking it into even pieces before throwing them into the fire. He watched as they perished in the merciless flames, vulnerable and weak. The words were not what he was expecting at all. Panic flared through his skin, resonating through his sapphire eyes, streaked with the embers of the fire.  

 _I don’t understand._ He admitted in his mind, averting his eyes from Kilgarrah when he noticed it had caught Gwen’s attention. Silently she gazed over at him, a sad smile on her face. Returning the gesture, Merlin continued to pry, fed up of the Dragon and his riddles. _What exactly are you saying?_

Kilgarrah’s next words greatly concerned him.

_The witch._

Merlin _should_ have known, he inhaled a deep breath for a moment. How could he have so easily forgotten about _the witch?_ Just for _one moment_ she had slipped his mind. She had freed herself from tormenting his thoughts. Uther, of course Uther Pendragon and his army were not the only threat. But they had to be _stopped,_ or else Albion would fall-

“-Isn’t that right _Me_ rlin?” Arthur said, amusement rife in his voice.

“ _Whatever_ you say Arthur.” He replied monotonously almost instantly, seeming to evoke laughter amongst his friends. The blonde man beside him grinned in delight before turning back to Morgana, as if to prove his point. Whatever point it was, Merlin was unsure because he hadn’t been listening to a single word. Certain he had slipped out of focus, he met Kilgarrah’s eyes across the fire.

_Morgause?_

The Dragon snorted audibly, contributing a few extra flames to the dying fire. Narrowing his eyes, Merlin studied him scornfully whilst the others merely shrugged off the gesture. There was a haunting silence in his mind; the only sound carrying into his ears were the voices of his friends. To be honest, he liked it much better this way. But knew it wouldn’t last for long. Dragon’s were not exactly renowned for making pleasant conversation. In fact, one ancient saying, if Merlin recalled correctly, directly spoke of the fatigue a young Dragon-rider once faced:

_Mælan ein gieddes ongean mín freond,_

_Hwæt,_ _eower hælo ende!_

He once laughed at the statement, now he _understood_ it and wanted to do nothing else other than recite it to Kilgarrah and watch his expression shift. The _best_ part would be that he would be unable to react, for Merlin was a Dragonlord and could ensure there would be no retaliation. The voice of the Dragon halted his thoughts.

_Morgana._

Not Morgause, Morgana. Attempting to hide his shock, Merlin, eyes wide, glanced over to the raven-haired woman. She was laughing, no doubt insulting Arthur if his dumbfounded expression was anything to go by. Examining the curious expression on Kilgarrah’s face, Merlin frowned gravely. He did _not_ like where this was going one bit.

_…Go on._

Kilgarrah didn’t hesitate, ferociousness embedding itself within each word.

_She is dangerous. She cannot be trusted-_

Not believing what he was hearing, Merlin glowered at the Dragon, the flames adding to the projection of _pure_ fury.

 _-You’re wrong! I know her, and I know she has a good heart._ He gazed over to the woman, returning the soft smile she offered. The gesture soothed Merlin. Morgana was _not_ dangerous. She was one of the few here who kept her reason, her resolve despite what had happened. Holding a hand to his throbbing temple, Merlin gazed down to the earthy soil at his feet. _I won’t abandon her like I did before_ _Dræɡən. I trust in her destiny._

 _Then you are foolish indeed young Emrys._ The Dragon laughed, evidently amused by Merlin’s blind faith. The mind exchange became more frantic and brutal. He lifted is head to the Dragon darkly, voice low and sure.

 _I know Morgana will use her powers for good._ Merlin hissed.

_That may well be so. But the prophecies are clear._

Pause. Curiosity and confusion bounded towards him, forcing him to ask the question he dared _not_ want to ask:

_What prophecies?_

He regretted the question, bringing a hand to wipe over his aching eyes as the Dragon spoke knowledgably.

_The ancient Naiimen prophecies of old. They speak of an alliance-_

Clenching his fists, Merlin gritted his teeth in vexation. He had to bite his tongue to stop the words in his mind from slipping out over the clearing.

 _-I’ve heard enough._ He was certain the venom in his voice would be far more potent aloud. Nonetheless, the Dragon continued talking.

_This union must be stopped Merlin, at whatever the cost, or Albion will-_

_-I said I’ve heard enough from you!_ He roared through his mind, eyes searing with anger, body trembling. _Get out of my head._

Merlin didn’t realise he had leapt onto his feet, gasping for air, until Arthur had gently prodded his arm in concern. It was then he noticed all eyes were on him, and most likely had been for some time now. Pursing his lips together, he studied their faces. His eyes rested on Morgana’s. She looked _worried,_ staring back with compassion. How could _this woman_ be anything but _good_ and just? It was ridiculous, a _stupid_ notion to even discuss, especially now when the People were supposed to be working _together._ Swallowing-hard, he met Kilgarrah’s eyes for a final time fiercely.

“It’s getting late,” he sighed. _I command you not to speak to me of this again._ Kilgarrah lifted its head, challenging the statement. “We have a _big day_ tomorrow. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

He left the warmth of the fire briskly, slipping into his blanket. A few minutes later, when Arthur lay down beside him and pulled the blanket over himself, he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. All he saw behind his closed eyelids was darkness, destruction- but he couldn’t bring himself to establish whose hand had dealt this evil. He told himself it was Uther Pendragon, but Kigarrah’s words resonated through his head.

_She is dangerous. She cannot be trusted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Arfuera, ic cufte cweðan awiht, ðu áfindest tðjniniende - Arthur, I could say anything - you would find it attractive. 
> 
> Asecgan mé, Dræɡən - Answer me, Dragon
> 
> Mælan ein gieddes ongean mín freond,  
> Hwæt, eower hælo ende!
> 
>  
> 
> Speak in riddles once more my friend,  
> Rest assured, your life will end!


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle is coming soon... less than 10 chapter left I reckon :( very sad times. But I hope you've all enjoyed this story.
> 
> The next chapter is my fav, this is the set-up for it, enjoy!

“The population of the Druids in the region of Iaonem,” the tall, bulky man said, gesturing towards the presentation on the screen. “Has gone from a mere thousand to over ten thousand in little over a week.” The gasps across the boardroom echoed through the silence. Uther clenched his fists, getting to his feet. The rage spewing from his eyes gestured he was not to be meddled with right now. He had recently heard news of what his _son_ had done, freeing all the Druids from Camelot Enterprise. Their hold over magic, their hold over this land was crumbling.

“And many more are coming. We must act swiftly.” Uther added, turning to Morgause with ferocious eyes. “We _must_ teach them a lesson, a lesson that will be forever seared into their minds. Emrys and…” averting his eyes, Uther attempted to feign composure. He found he could not and thus tripped up clumsily over the words before continuing with strength and poise. “Arthur, they have declared _war_ upon us.”

Morgause took this chance to speak, addressing the people around the table.

“Many _thousands_ more of Druids are flocking to Iaonem. Within a week they will significantly outnumber Camelot forces.” Pause. Her eyes met Uther’s. “They look up to Emrys, to Arthur. In order to claim Albion, we must _destroy_ their faith, crush their souls.”

Ignoring her implications of what she meant, Uther turned to Valiant and Cedric.

“Spread the word, we prepare for Battle.” he declared, voice cold and commanding attention. “We leave in two days.”

**♦☼♦**

Preparations for the great battle had started early in the day. Arthur had barely _seen_ Merlin. Both of them had duties to fulfil in the camp, and there was _so much_ to do. Iaonem was bustling with life, overpopulated and crowded. _Still_ more clans arrived, resting in the forests surrounding the magnificent tree. There was no room for _everyone_ to reside here. The support was staggering, and each clan took it upon themselves to trade skills and spells with each other during the day, ensuring each Druid had the adequate defence they needed. Merlin and the Elders had spent the duration of the day discussing complex and ancient spells that had not been attempted for generations. The look on Merlin’s face over lunch suggested even _he_ was struggling to come to grips with the powerful magic. Nonetheless, he dutifully stumbled back to the Elders when he was finished, offering Arthur the first smile of the day.

Arthur _was_ surprised – and _relieved –_ to discover that Morgana was studying with Aglain and Taliesin, recording everything she had seen. He presumed Morgana and Merlin had spoken about her gifts, and made note to mention it later. His sister had been avidly depicting some part of the future battle that began in less than _two days_ time, when Arthur walked past. And despite _wanting_ to sit and listen to all she had to say, Arthur found he could not. He was sure he would find out soon enough his sister’s predictions and Merlin had always said knowing your own future was dangerous. And _yet_ he had encouraged Morgana to do just that.

He had been on the verge of questioning Merlin about Morgana when Topia and a few other Clan leaders requested his attention. He had spent the majority of the afternoon reviewing strategies of attack with Topia, Elätha, Laurys, Nolwenn and Ryol. No definitive manoeuvre had been agreed, mainly because Arthur insisted that they could not make an important decision such as this without taking into account Emrys and the visions of the Seers (including Morgana).

Once _that_ was over Arthur decided to find a private clearing and practice his magic and swordsmanship. Merging his ability to wield a sword and spells was something he had desperately wanted to achieve. Although it was a near _impossible_ task, connecting your magic to an object was one of the hardest lessons. To his knowledge, Merlin was one of the only Druids who had mastered it. Even with his power, as Emrys, this had been a challenge. To be able to acquire this skill, Arthur _knew_ it would significantly improve his own fighting skills. Besides, since everybody _else_ was training, trying to become the best warriors they could be – why couldn’t _he at least try?_

Four hours later, panting for air and barely satisfying his body, head throbbing with excruciating pain, hands shaking; his only sword _broken in two,_ Arthur established that it had been a foolish idea. He could _feel_ his whole body was bruised, aching. No matter how hard he tried his magic fought his sword, his sword fought his magic. He had angrily kicked the ground, stumbling back to the camp with the broken sword wrapped in his navy blue cloak. To his relief, nobody asked where he’d been. Merlin was the only one who had glanced curiously at the object in his cloak, scanning his face with his sapphire eyes. Arthur didn’t need to say anything. Merlin guessed straight away. His reaction was not what Arthur had expected. Exasperated, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Arthur didn’t even have to _look_ to know the sword was fixed.

Before he could say anything, or explain, Merlin was gone.

Now, as the moonlight sprawled over the camp, Arthur was sat with the White Dragon of Legend, stirring over the day over a small, mesmerising fire with blue flames. Many of the Druids had retired to sleep, and Arthur knew nobody – bar Merlin – would try to approach Aithusa without permission. For now, he could sit and think, knowing he would not be disturbed. He leant against her strong shoulders, listening to her heavy breathing that gestured she was sleeping. A frown touched his lips as he gazed upon two men. One almost dismissed the other, walking past without words or acknowledgement. The other, Merlin, was _clearly_ upset by the gesture, lifting his hands in frustration before biting his lip and retreating in the opposite direction with teary eyes when he realised it was no good.

Sighing, Arthur averted is gaze to the hypnotic blue flames.

When it came to William, Arthur knew that nothing would ever be simple, and it never _could_ be. Hell, he even wondered if it _should_ be, because Will seemed to make it his business to sabotage Arthur at every given opportunity without hesitation. In all honestly, Arthur had been _foolish_ to think that the man would have accepted his return. But then again, he had bought back with him the White Dragon of legend, Gaius and freed the Druids from Camelot Enterprise. Whilst he knew these acts could not forgive the pain and suffering he had bought to the people, he hoped- _prayed -_ it was enough to prove his loyalty to the People. For many his presence was favoured, for many of the People respected and revered him more than he could have possibly imagined. For many, Arthur was a beacon that shone as brightly as Merlin.

And despite _all of this,_ the only person whose opinions mattered to him was _Will –_ of all people. Not that he would ever admit this to anyone, even Merlin who may well have guessed the other night when Arthur kept gazing over to Will as they spoke in hope he would gage some kind of reaction. As expected, there had been none, not even _anger_ or hatred. William’s behaviour was not _only_ affecting Arthur. He noticed the way Gwen’s smile faltered as she passed the man, he recognised the inconspicuous slip of Merlin’s tone whenever they met eyes. The truth was, Arthur hadn’t _heard_ Will speak a word since his return. The only thing he _had_ seen him do was sit in solitude – or with the Bastet girl, Freya - gazing over with pensive eyes.

Arthur _understood_ why he was doing this. Yes, whilst his behaviour _was_ bordering selfish and obnoxious, Will was _hurt._ A Pendragon had inflicted great suffering upon his people, his _home –_ and now the same Pendragon was back. Even now, reunited with the clan, working with Merlin again, Arthur still could not help but _feel_ the guilt consume him at night. The nightmares that stalked him in the night were overwhelming.

He _had_ caused great destruction. Balinor had died because of him, and yet Hunith treated him like her own son. He had bought death and calamity upon the only place Gwen had truly called home, and yet all Gwen ever did was look at him with kind, loving eyes. He had broken Merlin’s trust, and yet Merlin still had blinding faith in him. Brushing a hand over his face wearily, Arthur grimaced. In light of what he had done, William appeared to be the only one with _sense,_ brave enough not to allow his rights to outdo the blatant wrongs he had committed. At this thought his attention was drawn to Aithusa who spat a blue flame towards him furiously. She missed deliberately, adding a brighter hue to the fire.

“Arthur Pendragon,” she said, not moving her head from the ground where it rested. There was a peculiar tone to her voice, one Arthur knew only resided in Dragons. “You _must forgive_ yourself.”

Glancing over to meet those entrancing crystal eyes, Arthur softly stroked her scales with trembling palms. The flames danced across his eyes, over his skin, and whilst able to erase the fatigue he felt, it was not capable of transforming the tormented expression on his face. Her words triggered the emotions he had been supressing all day, all _week;_ the emotions he had been hiding since Merlin had banished him.These emotions had driven him to the brink, past the very corners of sanity. Blinking back tears, he averted his vision to the sky, blazing with thousands of stars. He wondered if Merlin sought his father at night, searching the skies for the star that twinkled with something the others did not. He tried to clear the lump in his throat, and failed.

“Aithusa.” He said firmly, turning to the Dragon intently. She lifted her head, awaiting his question. “Why…why _did_ you come to me?”

“I believe you’re asking me the wrong question little one. You should ask why you _doubted_ I would come to you,” she lowered her head to him, eyelevel and alarmingly close for a Dragon. “And why _I_ did not doubt it.”

Leaning towards her imploringly, he shook his head. He knew it had been a long-shot, calling up into the skies, _begging_ for redemption, hoping for a miracle. He knew as the rain had battered his skin, pelted his face that nobody or _nothing_ would hear his voice. Yet _moments later,_ Aithusa emerged from the clouds. He still recalled her majestic entrance, how the flash of lightening had illuminated her when she landed. She had _bowed_ her head before him, silently offering him to climb upon her back.  Lips twitching at the memory, the _look_ on Morgana’s face, Arthur gazed up at her.

“But I’m not a _dragonlord,_ I have no power over you. I barely have competent magic. I’m not even _from_ Albion. I’m not a Druid by blood. I…” swallowing-hard, Arthur met her eyes and spoke the word he didn’t _want_ to say but needed to hear. “I’m not _Merlin.”_

At the words, the young Dragon _laughed._

“You are _Arthur._ ” She replied firmly, lifting her head to signify her pride and confidence. The way the Dragon said his name unnerved Arthur. She acted as if his name held some kind of _meaning._ “The man with a Dragon’s heart, a Lion’s courage, it wasn’t chance that bought you here to Albion, it was _destiny.”_

Confused, Arthur narrowed his eyes. _Destiny._ His eyes flashed suddenly with realisation.

“You _knew_ I was coming.” Her next words startled him further.

“I was not the only one to foresee your arrival, it has been prophesised for many eons, engraved into the very _soul_ of Albion.” Baffled, the blonde man stood up, pacing back and forth absently as he listened to her explanation. This was _ridiculous!_ The Dragon was talking in riddles, speaking of things that could _not_ be true. “You underestimate yourself Arthur,” her eyes softened, voice losing its vibrancy. “and that will be your undoing.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Arthur snapped with more ferocity than intended, marching towards her. If she was implying that they couldn’t _win…_ He abruptly stopped walking when she _growled_ at him, tail swinging from side to side.

“You must believe in yourself Arthur.” She replied with similar force. “The People _need you_ as they need Merlin. _Without_ you there is no Emrys, _without_ you there can be no peace in this land.”

Raking hand through his tousled blonde hair, Arthur churned her words over. She was withholding _something_ from him, that much he was certain. Her riddles and words of wisdom clearly were aiming to suggest something deeper than what was on the surface. His mind shot back to Topia’s words from the other night round the large fire; _there’s something about you, you are special._ Special. Destiny. _Eons._ Prophecies. _You and I…we are like two sides of the same coin, each a half that makes the whole._ Merlin’s voice rang through his mind. _I have faith in you Arthur. Just have faith in yourself._ There was _more,_ more than faith alone binding all these words together. The very notion of what it was terrified him, because it was huge, _colossal._

“Whether or not you heed my words young Pendragon, you _will_ believe it soon.”

Arthur left Aithusa’s presence silently, not wanting to think about it, to think about _anything._ Uther was readying himself for a war- Arthur _knew_ soon they would be ready, and they would come straight to Iaonem. The battle was approaching; he could feel it in his bones, in his racing heart. Soon, he was going to have to face his father once again. The thought unnerved him, _panicked him_.  All that he White Dragon had said also worried him. Frantically, he quickened his pace; wanting nothing more than to leave the outlying forest and sit beneath Monðwære-ferð until the sun rose again. Arthur didn’t realise who he had accidentally walked into – or that he _had_ even done so _–_ until a voice rang out.

“So you came back then?”

The words caused him to stop in his tracks. Closing his eyes, Arthur inhaled a deep breath. The voice was familiar, painfully so. Slowly, he turned around, and saw none other than Will. His face was splayed with dirt, dark eyes as foreboding and judgemental as ever. His lips were drawn into a stern line. Overall he looked _defeated –_ and really Arthur refused to buy the wounded façade. It was time Will broke out of his mood once and for all, if not for Arthur, for his best friend.

“We’re still playing this game then,” He chuckled in amusement, never breaking eye contact with the troubled man. Will opened his mouth, ready to fire more words his way; Arthur quickly continued. “ _Before_ you insult me again, tell me one thing, because I’m curious-”

“-I still don’t _trust_ you.” Will spat, not allowing him to finish. Funny, the _more_ he heard Will say that, the less convinced Arthur was. “I never have and I never will. You may have found the White Dragon and made a flashy entrance, but that doesn’t _change_ what you did.” Eyes lowering to the ground, Will swallowed-hard, uncomfortable with talking about _that day._

“You think I don’t look back on that day?” Taking a step forwards, Arthur offered Will a coy smile that was immediately rejected. This unleashed the rage boiling beneath Arthur’s skin. “If you _think_ my actions were supposed to excuse what I’ve done, then you are mistaken. I’m not _asking_ for forgiveness, I just want the People that _I love_ to have hope again.”

Narrowing his eyes, Will clenched his fists.

“I _know_ what you’re doing Arthur.”

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur folded his arms across his chest, awaiting the stream of negativity to crash down over him. Nonetheless, he _was_ surprised, because this had to be the _first time_ that Will had called him _by his name._ It appeared Will was aware of his mistake too, what it implied. When he pursed his lips agitatedly, gazing away, Arthur found the only choice he had was to stoop to his level and antagonise the Druid. Will’s opinion was important; it deserved a voice. If he revealed he was _willing_ to listen, perhaps then Will would have the courtesy to listen to him.

“If there’s something you want to say to me,” he said, voice low and commanding; a small smirk unwillingly spread over his face. “By _all means_ say it, don’t let me stop you.”

That seemed to do the trick.

“I can’t stand it. _You,”_ Will pointed over towards him darkly, but his look was _dark_ at all. Arthur saw right through it, stunned by what was lying underneath. “Acting all noble, trying to lead the Druids as if you’re a _leader._ ”  Disliking where this was going, Arthur gritted his teeth to stop himself from barking back fiercely. “You want to take over. You want to shove Merlin out of his place, and take the Druids for yourself. Just like your _father,_ you are driven by power and the urge to _control-”_

“-That’s not true. I am _not_ my father and I never will be.” Arthur snarled, unable to ignore the bait. Aithusa’s words resonated within him, filling him with assurance and confidence. A peculiar pain spread over his body followed by the thousands of butterflies that had somehow found their way beneath his skin. “Merlin and I, we are equals.”

At these words Will _laughed,_ clearly _furious_ by such a statement.

“You are _nothing_ compared to him! He is _Emrys,_ the most powerful warlock of all time. And _you-_ ” flinching at the words, Arthur reluctantly took a step backwards, watching confidence and assurance flee the scene quicker then they had rushed to his side.

“-Arthur,” another voice interrupted boldly.

Both Will and Arthur devoted their focus to the figure who emerged from the darkness and stepped into the moonlight. He was dressed in a draping black cloak, alluring and striking against his skin and electric blue eyes. Arthur watched Will’s anger deteriorate. Lowering his hood, Merlin smiled at the two men before him. For a moment he stared at Will curiously, unable to mask the sad undertone to his smile. Will returned the sentiment, almost reticently. Then the Druid stood beside Arthur, _loyally,_ faithfully. Merlin’s next words caused Arthur’s world to become increasingly disorientating, blurry. The stars in the sky became smears over a black canvas, the trees blended into one thick texture.

“Arthur is _destined_ to bring eternal peace to Albion, he is the one who will guide us into the Golden Age. Arthur,” Merlin gazed over to Arthur _nervously._ Despite the dizziness clouding him, Arthur saw what was embedded within those eyes. It was a confirmation, an _admission._ The unusual _apprehension_ in Merlin’s aurarevealed what he was going to say. Clasping onto Merlin’s shoulder for support, Arthur clamped his eyes shut and waited for the words to wash over him.

“Arthur Pendragon is the Once and Future.”

Opening his eyes, Arthur’s eyes widened. Once and Future. _There’s something special about you Arthur._ Two Sides of the coin. Destiny. Fate. Mouth agape, he stared at Merlin, who refused to look him in the eyes, keeping his focus on Will. _The Once and Future;_ the right-hand man of Emrys. He was not prepared to hear those words, the _gravity_ of them. Will said something, clearly doubtful of Merlin’s words, but Arthur couldn’t _hear_ him. The only thing he had the energy to hear was Merlin’s voice, viciously berating the words that had just been spoken by his old friend.

“I saw it, with my own eyes.” He stated, evoking shock from _both_ of the men. His voice was full of resolution and faith. “I saw it the first time I looked into the Crystals of Ealdor.” Arthur narrowed his eyes at the statement. He remembered Merlin telling him that he had looked into the Crystals. This had been many weeks before he had even _arrived_ in Albion which had to mean _all this time_ Merlin was _fully aware_ of what he’d seen and what it meant. Arthur wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about this revelation, too shocked by the _real_ revelation to react.

“It’s not the Crystals I believe in,” turning to meet Arthur’s eyes, Merlin’s lips tugged upwards. This abruptly became a blinding, toothy smile that reached his eyes and crinkled his eyelids, accentuating his cheekbones. The look was so _full_ of trust and other things that all Arthur could do was gape back in wonder. “It’s _you_ I believe in _.”_

“He…” Will’s words trailed off, gazing at Arthur with something _other_ than rage. No. This _couldn’t_ be true. How could one with such a great _destiny_ be _him?_ A sigh left his lips, a precarious question entering his mind.

How _could_ one with such a great destiny _not_ be Arthur Pendragon? It made sense. The man was full of contradictions; constantly surprising Will with his actions that subverted what he assumed were a Pendragon’s. _Assumed._ Here lied the issue. Will had never given _Arthur_ a chance, he had meticulously scrutinised his actions, praying for the blonde to fuck up and prove he _was_ one of them. But when he _did_ fuck everything up, well, it _infuriated_ Will further because even _that_ was unintentional and despite disliking Arthur Pendragon, he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain this stance. He still held it though, clinging onto the final threads desperately.

“What if _he’s_ (Arthur rolled is eyes, was there _no end_ Will’s insults?) leading us into  a trap? If…if we follow _him,_ we will die Merlin,” Will muttered bleakly.

“-Why, why can’t you _trust_ him?” Merlin whispered beseechingly, the upset in his voice touched Arthur. A dismal laugh escaped Merlin’s lips. For a moment the two men seemed to forget Arthur was standing in earshot of their conversation that had taken a more private turn.

“We’ve been through this.”

“Yes we have, and still I don’t _understand_ Will.” Merlin took a step forwards, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He is the _once and future,_ he-”

“-Because you saw his face in some Crystals in a cave?” Will retorted bluntly, Merlin’s eyes darkened at the words.

“ _Don’t_ speak of our sacred place in such a way.” He scolded, swallowing the lump in his throat. Will reached out and grabbed Merlin’s shoulder tightly. The action forced Merlin to look into his friend’s eyes.

“Merlin, even _Gaius_ has said many times that the Crystals have been wrong before. They can be inaccurate, foretell false truths, manipulate your mind…”

Merlin took this opportunity to gaze over at Arthur and was horrified at what he saw. Doubt. That stupid _doubt_ that he thought he’d perished had resurfaced at Will’s words, resonating through his sapphire eyes, diminishing his composure. Arthur grimaced. _Gaius_ had said this. Gaius was a wise man; he knew many things. Perhaps- _No…_ yes. Merlin read Arthur’s mind effortlessly, without magic. It was obvious he was _considering_ it.Releasing himself from Will’s grasp, Merlin practically _growled,_ demanding both of their attention.

“Arthur _is_ the Once and Future!” He all but yelled viciously. His voice echoed throughout the clearing, so full of certainty it unsettled the blonde man. “I _know_ he is.”

“Well why is it then that you’ve only _just_ told Arthur?” Will asked, fully aware his words were feeding the suspicions that Merlin was trying to counteract. Biting his lip, Merlin glowered at his friend; a cruel question, one probably that he knew needed answering. But not here, Merlin treaded carefully around the words, a little concerned by Arthur’s vacant expression.

“I had my reasons,” Merlin’s voice became brusquely severe. “None of which concern you, _William_.”

The pair maintained an intense stare, locking eyes hazardously. Seconds later, Arthur found it was all too much to handle. The once and future, Will’s words, _Merlin’s_ words…everyone’s words. So many words, so many things now began to make sense in _context…_ holding a hand to his throbbing head, he turned away and began to walk through the bioluminescent forest. Merlin averted his attention, watching as Arthur faded into the distance. Wildly he turned back to Will, eyes instinctively flashing gold. Will raised his hands in defence; despite knowing his oldest friend would never bring harm to him. Lowering his hands as Merlin’s eyes retained their usual colour, Will studied the _hurt_ expression on his face.

“You’ve gone _too far_ this time.” Merlin admitted, tears staining his eyes, threatening to fall down his face. Swiftly Will’s expression shifted to a mix of bewilderment and distress.

“From that start you’ve made it your _personal mission_ to drag him down. He’s a good man Will.” Wiping his eyes, Merlin choked on his upset, stumbling clumsily over his words. “Arthur has _tried_ to make amends with you, _more times_ than I can say, and you have failed to overlook your own selfish intentions.” Unable to stop the tears falling from his eyes, he shook his head. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve just done. But if you’re going to continue acting like a little child then you give me no choice.”

Will suddenly leant towards his friend.

_“Shit,_ Merlin I’m _sorry_ I…I.” He stammered, panic consuming him when Merlin refused to meet his eyes. “You _know_ me. I don’t like change-”

“-You’re fine with change,” Merlin snapped, not believing Will was trying to _lie_ to him. He knew him better than anyone. Lying was futile, pointless. “You just don’t like Arthur-”

“-I’m trying.” Will muttered sadly, ashamed he had done this to his oldest friend. Merlin scoffed.

“You’re not _trying_. You haven’t tried at _anything_ for weeks!” he exclaimed, unimpressed with Will’s behaviour. It was exhausting. Will remained silent, unsure what exactly to say. Yes, he had been a lousy friend, wallowing in his own misery for too long. He had neglected the people who needed him the most. Sighing, Merlin turned from him.

“When you’ve decided to get your act together and _grow up,”_ he began, a sharp bite to his tone that worried Will. Merlin was _never_ this angry with him. They’d had fights but usually it was Will doing the shouting, Merlin doing the pacifying. Oh, he had royally screwed up this time. “Then we can talk.”

With that, Merlin swiftly left Will’s presence, intent on finding Arthur. If he heard Will’s subsequent and genuine apology, he made no note of showing it.

**♦☼♦**

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Arthur asked slowly as he heard the approaching footsteps from behind him. The arms of Monðwære-ferð were glowing radiantly, adding an ethereal hue to his skin. Eyes shut, he continued to focus on his breathing. The battle was _days_ away; he could feel it. They needed to be ready, and he needed to clear his mind. Freezing in his tracks, the Druid frowned. Arthur was certainly taking it better than he’d expected. Taking another step closer, Merlin crouched down beside Arthur underneath the tree. He reached for Arthur’s hands tentatively.

“Knowing your future is not something I would wish upon anybody.” It wasn’t enough of an explanation, he _knew_ this much.

“It is dangerous.” Arthur regurgitated Merlin’s words, opening his eyes gently. Meeting Merlin’s sapphire eyes, he frowned. “Is this why you have been so…distant?”

“Yes…” swallowing-hard, Merlin adjusted himself on the ground, studying the soil before plucking up the courage to meet the blonde’s eyes again. “I found out that I was Emrys when I was very young. My parents tried to protect me from the legends, but it wasn’t enough. One day a woman came to our clan, requiring help for my mother,” listening intently, Arthur squeezed his hand, gesturing for him to continue. “The woman saw me and pointed at me like I was a monster. She started screaming this name at me.”

_Emrys,_ Merlin didn’t have to say it for Arthur to understand.

“I was _five_ years old.” A sad laugh escaped his lips. _“_ Growing up, that name haunted me, cast over me like a shadow.” Pause. “It was difficult. To be known to _so many_ as someone you’re not, to have a whole new identity you’re not even sure exists.” Arthur faintly traced patterns on Merlin’s palms, watching as the raven-haired man gazed into his eyes once more. “ _Knowing_ how it felt at times, I…I didn’t want you to feel _overwhelmed_ or trapped.”

Eyes softening, Arthur kissed Merlin’s forehead affectionately, silently gesturing his gratitude. He _was_ gratefulfor this. Although perhaps it had been withheld for too long, Arthur hardly doubted he would have coped or _believed_ this six months ago, or even two months ago. He already had so much on his mind, learning the ways of the People, looking for acceptance and belonging, searching for answers his father never gave him. With the secret agenda, being told he was equal to the greatest warlock in all history….well- that would not have gone smoothly with his past self. In fact, he was certain he would have just laughed it off or _mocked_ it. Smiling proudly, Merlin fiddled with their entwined fingers.

“It made _no difference_ that you didn’t know. You’ve proven yourself to be more than the Crystals predicated, more than the prophecies foretold.”

Unlacing their fingers, Arthur’s fingers trailed over the beautiful sparkling leaves of Monðwære-ferð before resting over his knees.

“William _is_ right though.” At these words Merlin _rolled his eyes_ in frustration, biting his lip to stop himself from retaliating. “These aren’t my people Merlin, they’re yours.”

“No.” Merlin replied firmly, because he was not allowing this to happen _again_. Damn the gorgeous man and his insecurities. Raking a hand through his dark hair, Merlin gazed over Iaonem. Most of the Druids were sound asleep, a few embers on the horizon still burning. “Arthur, these are _our_ people. We will bring about the new age. You and I, we will rule this land, _together.”_

“We can’t defeat my father Merlin,” Arthur murmured morosely, recalling what he had seen in the Camelot warehouse with a shudder. “I know what he’s capable of. He will not rest until Magic no longer _breathes.”_ Merlin pondered on these words, Uther had lost all he ever cared about to magic; Igraine, Morgana, Gaius and Arthur. But this had all been his _own doing._ Uther Pendragon had chosen to trade his wife’s life for Arthur’s. Uther Pendragon had chosen to conceal Morgana’s birth; he had chosen to send Gaius to the labs despite being nothing but a loyal companion. He was lost, _blinded_ by this hatred and immeasurable loss. Camelot Enterprise was all Uther had left to fight for, his _legacy._

“We should disjoin the resistance, they’re too strong-”

Breaking from his thoughts, Merlin shook his head belligerently.

“-Now is _not_ the time to talk like this Arthur!” he cried in shock. People looked up to Arthur, if _anyone_ heard him say this, the resistance may as well be _over._ “We have _less than two days_ before they arrive. Thousands of Druids came to Iaonem because you asked them to fight with you Arthur. They came to help you fight for what is right and all that is just in this world. This is the chance to win back our freedom, _forever._ People _believe_ in you can’t you see?”

Bowing his head, Arthur’s lips morphed into a grimace.

“No, they believe in _Emrys.”_

Adamant on snapping Arthur back into his senses, Merlin immediately responded with vigour and passion.

“Emrys is nothing without the Once and future.” Smiling fondly, he muttered a spell, eyes a magnificent golden hue. In a flash a familiar book landed in his hands. Opening it he turned to Arthur and cleared his throat. “In the time of exile and condemnation, where man is full of greed and bitterness, one heart will reveal itself to be a dark daemon, blacker than the night.” Recognising the ancient verse, Arthur lifted his head curiously, eyes resting on the book as Merlin spoke. “And another will step forth into the light and reveal that it is in fact a Dragon.” He recited, pausing for dramatic effect. Putting the ancient book down, Merlin leant towards Arthur and pressed his hand gently against his shoulder.

“The man the prophets speak of, _it’s you._ I believe in you Arthur. I _always_ have. From the day I first met you I knew you had a great journey ahead of you. I have watched you grow into the man you were destined to become. Albion has _chosen_ you to be her guardian; she has been _waiting_ for thousands of years for this day to come, for you and I to rescue her from this deadly foe.” The statement was bold, overpowering. Surely there were _greater_ candidates for the ‘Once and Future’, Druids with awesome power and revered skills. Why _Arthur,_ son of the man who had the blood of hundreds of Druids on his hands? Getting to his feet, Arthur offered the man a final smile, evidently still cynical and _doubtful._  

“It’s late,” he clarified; conscious that Merlin hadn’t finished what he was going to say. Merlin gazed over at him, concern etched onto his face. “Tomorrow we have a long day. We should get some rest Merlin.”


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's my birthday today and I thought I'd update the next chapter because I'm feeling very happy :D 
> 
> I have envisaged this scene from the very start. One of the first scenes I was aiming for actually. It's SO IMPORTANT that you listen to the music provided for this chapter, it's just one track which can be downloaded here (special cut): 
> 
> http://www.filedropper.com/showdownload.php/01theswordinthestonemagicoflove
> 
> It will be underlined from where the music should start :)  
> Enjoy everybody!  
> I can't wait for you all to read this!!

 

The sun was rising over the dark horizon, its wistful light encapsulating all in a realm of concern and doubt. Merlin simply refused to fall under this spectrum, not allowing himself to be affected by the almost lazy unveiling of the day. The sheer lack of understanding the sun had that the Druids were on the brink of _war,_ agitated him heavily _._ War was coming, Uther and his army would arrive soon. They couldn’t wait _all day_ for the sun to rise! Nonetheless, he felt the warmth it emitted, and basked in it. Sympathetically, the wind rushed over his shoulder, gently stroking his skin. Today was a big day. There was much to do, so much to prepare. A frown dusted his lips. But before _any_ of this could commence, there was something of _greater_ importance that had to be done. For how could Merlin lead the clans into battle if Arthur Pendragon himself was unsure of his own destiny?

It had kept him awake for most of the night, alongside other troubling thoughts. Kilgarrah’s pressing words on Morgana and her fate, Arthur’s lack of faith in _himself,_ the subtle layer of panic weaving between the Druids. Things were slowly dismantling from the core; he feared it was only a matter of time before the crux of the resistance crumbled completely. He could not allow this to happen, not after how far they had all come. Someone needed to take charge, to show the People of _Albion_ that this war _could_ be won. To Merlin, there was nobody better than Arthur to do such a thing. He was certain other Clan leaders would volunteer themselves, many of them _had_ and came with good plans. However, Arthur understood the enemy, he understood their weapons and tactics. Not only that, he was _destined_ for this. Merlin could not lead the people without him. It required _both_ of them. Rubbing his sore eyes, Merlin sighed. He wished nothing more than for all of this to be _simple._ He wondered, what would his _father_ have done? It scared him that he honestly didn’t know.

Thus, he had remained awake throughout the night, not turning to the advice of the Dragons in fear Kilgarrah would spew more nonsense of destinies and prophecies he _really_ didn’t want to hear right now. Aithusa was still a youthful Dragon, she had her wisdom but on matter such as this, he was certain the White Dragon would have said what needed to said by now. This was a problem Merlin was going to have to solve alone, unaided. The question had kept him awake all night: how _do_ you make someone regain their faith, in _themselves?_ He had _almost_ lost hope until the orange sunlight burst over the horizon, conspiring solutions that melted into his skin. He _was_ going to make Arthur believe, no matter what it took, no matter the cost.

Arthur _had_ to believe in his destiny.

Leaning over to the blonde man, still asleep, Merlin nudged him gently. At first there was no response other than a twitch of his arm, clearly a gesture attempting to bat the intruder away. It was futile and lazy. Merlin prodded again, more insistently. Slowly, Arthur opened his eyes, groaning a little at disruption; a smile touched the raven man’s lips. He felt no guilt for rousing the peaceful man, for it was an important day. Arthur on the other hand…

“S’not even fully light yet Merlin.” He protested, turning his back on the man beside him rudely. Frowning, Merlin determinedly shook Arthur, practically _dragging_ him with force up and out of the blankets. Left with no choice but to open his eyes, Arthur did so groggily. Everything sifted into focus gradually, the blur of the surroundings coming into focus. He gazed over to Merlin, who was _glowing_ with radiance and pride. The sight drained away his fatigue. Certain Arthur was aware of his surroundings, Merlin titled his head forwards with a coy smile, and began walking silently. When he stopped and gazed over at Arthur expectantly, Arthur followed him reluctantly into the trees.

The forests of Iaonem were not as grandiose as the forests the people of Ealdor had grown to love and revere. The trees here were thin and lanky, towering high but never matching the thick, majestic giants of their home forest. The ground was littered in leaves, crispy and it crackled with a plethora of sound under their feet. Despite its differences, this forest had a special aura. It didn't radiate the pure magic, yet it had a peculiar transcendence, a feeling of hope hanging between each tree, connecting them together in a vast network of shared thoughts and expression.

The forests were also far less perilous this far East. The beasts of the Wuduwésten region had fled further West after the destruction, towards the final stretches of Albion. Here the only evidence of other life was the birdsong, delicate and sweet in tone. The sun was _barely_ poking its head over the forest, offering a meek tentative golden glow that illuminated the land whilst casting dramatic shadows. It was beautiful, but also a painful reminder that Merlin had dragged him out of bed at an _ungodly hour._ Trudging behind Merlin, Arthur allowed his curiosity to unveil itself.

Merlin had been cryptically quiet, walking no less than two steps ahead at a tiring, urgent pace. It was obvious something was on his mind, and he had embraced it totally and completely, because well- that's what Merlin did with everything. Whatever it was, however, he was intent on keeping it to himself. A little frustrated at this silent game, Arthur marched forwards and matched Merlin's pace.

"Are you going to explain or are you expecting me to just..." Blinking in confusion at the scenario, Arthur made a vague gesture with his hand. "Follow you?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. Merlin could be pretty enigmatic when he wanted to be, not that he’d ever admit that.

A coy smile spread over the raven-haired man's lips, enhancing his mesmerising demeanour. The sunlight really _was_ favouring Merlin this morning, kind enough to brush over the circles under those eyes and focus more on accentuating their striking colour. Arthur could only stare back in fascination, which did little to increase the chances of his question being answered.

Two steps later, Merlin breathed a sigh, resembling an admission of sorts. Resolutely, he met Arthur's eyes for a second, fleshing out every emotion and sentiment with ease. His eyes twinkled with something _more_ than just the sunlight. . Arthur gazed back with uncertainty, unable to read those eyes. Then, a wistful smile smoothed over Merlin’s face and he set his eyes on the horizon. Walking forwards with fortitude, he spoke.

"What you said last night..." Merlin could feel Arthur’s eye-roll behind him. “About Emrys, about _yourself._ It got me thinking. There’s something I need to show you.”

Pushing a low-lying branch out of the way, the blonde felt the distance between them growing. Quickening his pace, he frowned in irritation. He’d never really liked prancing around through forests. Plus this whole scenario was embarrassingly similar to the day he met Merlin in Albion. That day he had been chased by the Bastet, cornered by foul mongrels. Out of nowhere came the mysterious Druid, saving him despite _knowing_ somehow Arthur Pendragon was a bad omen for Albion back then. The memories flashed through Arthur’s mind unwillingly. Merlin had been striding forwards into the darkness, Arthur stumbling clumsily behind him, demanding answers to questions he’d had no right to ask. But he’d been arrogant and foolish back then, all those seven months ago. Everything had changed. Or _had_ it? Narrowing his eyes, he watched the back of Merlin’s head bob up and down as he walked over the jagged contours of the land. Here they were, Merlin leading, Arthur following _blindly._ Thinking back to him time in Ealdor, it had _always_ been this way.

Arthur would follow Merlin anywhere.

Merlin would lead Arthur wherever he needed to go.

“I’m not in the mood for a pep-talk _merlin.”_ Arthur retorted bluntly, a little fiercer than intended. He lost his footing over a concealed rock clumsily. To his relief Merlin had not seen, probably because he was still too focused on the forest, the pathway he was taking them. Graciously, he trounced forwards; now by Merlin’s side who apparently chose to ignore his comments and remarks.

“There is a story I would like to share with you, a story hardly _anyone_ knows-”

At these words, Arthur came to an abrupt halt.

“-We’re going to _war_ and you’ve dragged me out into the middle of the woods to _tell me a story?”_ he barked incredulously, confused and frustrated by the man’s behaviour. They didn’t have _time to waste!_ Preparations had to start _now!_ Without question or permission, not that he _needed_ permission, Arthur spun around, deciding to walk back to camp. Merlin gazed over his shoulder and furiously strode over to the blonde. He hauled him back forcefully by the shirt, teeth gritted and lips pursed together. Raising his eyebrows in surprise at the gesture, a trace of amusement tickling his lips, Arthur studied Merlin. He appeared conflicted, greatly troubled and _clearly_ exhausted.

“Just.” Biting his lip to prevent the frustration leaking into his voice, Merlin gently released his grip on the shirt. “ _Listen_ to me Arthur.” Nodding in agreement, Arthur sighed, and Merlin began walking again at a tireless pace. This time Arthur did not object; whatever Merlin had to say or what he was trying to prove, it would no doubt prove useful for the battle. Raking a hand through his blonde hair, Arthur shielded his face from the sunlight that fell through the slits in the trees. Merlin, unaffected of course, began to speak.

“It is said that many years ago, when the earth was young, in the time where Druids and Dragons were free, our land was in an endless cycle of bloodshed and war. The Druids against the Druids – but it was foretold that _one man_ would end all of this suffering.” Smiling, he pressed his feet harder into the soil as the incline of the ground began. “He gathered together the Druids all across Albion with the power of his Dragon, _Aithusa._ He drew up treaties, peace talks – insisting that the Druids got along.” Understanding where Merlin was going with this, Arthur bit back a laugh. Drawing his eyebrows together, Merlin peered over his shoulder to meet the blonde’s smirk. He gazed upon the man questioningly.

“-Don’t feel you have to conjure some _elaborate_ tale to make me feel good about myself-”

“-That man was not a druid Arthur,” Merlin snapped, shutting Arthur up with his voice. He _refused_ to let Arthur’s idiocy and prat-like façade devalue his story. They reached the top of the hill, which revealed there was another steep rise ahead. Arthur found himself compelled to listen as Merlin’s voice became soft and mystic. “He was of human origin. He fought for Albion’s freedom and with the last of his strength, the great warrior thrust his sword into a mighty stone.” Pause. “This would serve as a test, only a true hero, a real leader – the _once and future-_ (Arthur tensed at the phrase) would be able to pull the sword free, and ride upon Aithusa.”

Pushing his protesting body up the large hill, Arthur sighed. Merlin sounded so _certain_ of this tale, so sure it was real. But his words contradicted his tone; a mighty _warrior_ plunging his sword into a rock before his death, a _true hero_ being the only candidate eligible for reclaiming the sword once more. He’d heard similar stories as a child, all remarkably similar and sickeningly joyous. Nonetheless, this tale referenced the Once and Future directly, and it scared him, _deeply._ Attempting to mask his anxiety, Arthur gazed up at Merlin how had reached the top of the hill already.

“If it’s true, then why haven’t I heard this story before?” He retorted, praying Merlin had no answer to this question. Unfortunately, he had heard it. Glancing down at Arthur who was still halfway down, he smiled.

“This is a story older than _time_ itself Arthur,” Merlin whispered enigmatically, almost to o quiet for Arthur to hear from the distance. “ _Before_ the Naiimen legends.”

 _Before_ the Naiimen legends? Arthur scoffed at that, _ridiculous._ There were no documents of anything before the Naiimen people; Leon had spoken of his interests in the early Druid documents, none dating further back than the earliest Naiimen age. Unless this was a tale passed from generation to generation through verbal communication? Arthur was incapable of hiding his amusement – _or_ it was a story Merlin had made up to try and lift his spirits. Flouncing his blonde hair out of his eyes, Arthur neared the top of the hill finally.

“Where is this stone?” he called up to Merlin, unable to repress the laughter bubbling in his voice. Seeming to overlook the mocking voice, the Druid replied in a low, mysterious voice.  

“It was lost many years ago.”

“Of course it was.” Arthur muttered rudely, bowing his head to conceal his chuckle as he finally reached the top of the hill. Regaining his breath he gazed over at Merlin who was fixated on something ahead, eyes sparkling with mirth and elation. Arthur was about to question Merlin’s peculiar actions, he wasn’t making _any_ sense! Then, all of a sudden, Merlin made _perfect sense_ by uttering three dangerous words.

“I’ve found it.”

The moment could not have been more perfectly timed. As Merlin's words resonated in the forest, Arthur's eyes landed on something breath-taking, something _impossible_. Awe flashed over his wide eyes, mouth agape. It resembled something out of a fairytale, out of Harry Potter and all those clandestine books he and Morgana would read before bedtime as children. Only it _was real_ , it was far more magical and bewildering- and Arthur didn't realise he'd been holding his breath until his body compelled him to inhale dramatically.

The sunlight floated down gracefully in a single beam of concentrated light upon the stone, adding to the ethereal scene. Below them, at the bottom of this hill, stood a stone. But it wasn’t _just_ this silver stone that was so enchanting. Embedded in this large stone was a symbol. A symbol of hope, in the form of a mighty sword. It was wedged securely into the stone, glistening in the light. It was a fine sword and full of contradictions: elegant and bulky, delicate and strong, old but new. The New Age. Swallowing-hard, Arthur gazed over to Merlin to who was smiling freely, eyes bursting with faith. Gazing between the sword and Merlin, Arthur _finally_ understood. A shallow laugh escaped his lips.

Merlin wanted him to pull out the sword.

Merlin believed _he_ was the one that could pull this sword free.

"Another one of your tests." He teased lightly, though it was not light at all, the words were heavy on his tongue, thick in his throat and immediately the gravity of this swamped him and pushed him down into the waters. Panic came first, then doubt because this couldn't be happening. The story was _real._ The mighty sword was right in front of them, the sword that only the once and future could wield.

“I cannot pull out that sword.” He stammered nervously, holding a hand to his head. “I…even if I could _what use_ is it against guns and weaponry?!”

His vision began to deteriorate. Relying on sound, he heard Merlin’s calm voice respond.

“Arthur, this is no ordinary blade. It was forged in the breath of _Kilgarrah_ himself.”

A _magical_ sword, a powerful weapon. A weapon that was set in stone, and _impossible_ to free. A sword made in the fires of a Dragon. The words buzzed around Arthur’s mind. He felt himself drowning, the weight of the once and future plunged him further and further into this new water, below the chaotic torrents until he was completely out of his depth. Out of his depth, he was _so_ fucking out of his depth right now.

“That _sword,_ ” he managed to mutter. “It’s _impossible!_ My…I…”

Noticing Arthur’s inner turmoil, Merlin instantly reached over to him and clasped his shoulders comfortingly. It was too much for him, _too much._ Suddenly Arthur’s body slumped over, head falling backwards weakly, body limp in the Druid’s arms. Worry cast through Merlin, those blue eyes were vacant and unfocused, clearly overwhelmed.

“ _Arfuera,”_ he gently squeezed the shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief when Arthur’s eyes slowly settled on his face.

The voice lifted him from the dark waters, cut lose the anchor chained to him. Abruptly Arthur was floating rapidly to the surface, bursting through to the surface dramatically. The force of the new, fresh air on his face, the immense change in _everything,_ shook his entire body. Gasping for this new, fresh air, Arthur gazed back at the sword at the bottom of the hill. A fond smile spread over Merlin’s face, doing little to comfort him.

“You and I,” he mused beginning to walk down the hill. Arthur remained motionless, eyes wide and body frozen. “We’ve been through much together, from Chimeras and Manticores to falling towers and taming Wyverns.” As he turned his head to glance behind him, Arthur inhaled a deep breath and took small steps forwards hesitantly, eyes locked upon the stone. His lips twitched at the memories, Merlin’s voice acted as a guide that hypnotically pulled him forwards. “We’ve faced many threats Arthur, but none as big as what’s coming. Now we’re going to stay, we’re going to fight and we’re _going to win._ But this battle requires you to take a leap of faith,” Arthur stood beside Merlin, studying the stone silently, too focused on it to notice the figures emerging out of the forest. “You must _believe_ Arthur. We all believe. _”_

Lifting his eyes from the stone, Arthur gazed out beyond the stone. The sight stunned him. Hundreds of people were standing in the forest, all watching him. Morgana, Gwaine, Leon and Lancelot were stood at the front, expressions stern. Gwen stood beside them, hope seeping from her eyes; they were all here. Gaius, Hunith, Zelina, Topia, Evanna, Ysěult, Rægan, Elätha and dozens of other clan leaders. His eyes rested on Will in surprise. The man was watching almost intently, no trace of disdain or doubt on his face. Behind the huge crowd of people, Arthur spotted his Wyvern Bregurófne, and Léohte with Ábilgest. He also saw Kilgarrah and depicted a pair of white, angelic wings, _Aithusa._ She bowed her head when he met her eyes, and if Dragon’s could smile Arthur was pretty sure that she was right now. He averted his eyes to study the crowd cautiously, shock and fear gripping him at once. _They were all watching him._

Merlin.

Merlin had _gathered_ everybody here.

Too bad he was going to fail because there was no way he could pull that rusted sword out. His magic wasn’t even that strong _anyway._ Without the aid of magic, how could he possibly pull out that sword? He examined the sword carefully. It was beautiful. The hilt was solid gold, with deep black engravings of Dragons and mystical symbols, and a finely carved ruby at the top. The blade itself was thin and dainty, silver with a thin strip of rose gold outlining the centre of it. Intricate engravings laced the precious metal, adding to its lure. Arthur’s hands ghosted over the hilt slowly, surprised at how natural it felt. Instinctively he gripped the hilt in his hand. It took a _lot_ of concentration to break himself away from the weapon and realise what he exactly it looked like he was trying to do.

Arthur’s eyes drifted from the sword swiftly.

“Do you want to make me look like a fool?” he hissed bleakly to Merlin, unable to tear his gaze away from the hundreds of loyal People that had come to witness his apparent act of valour today. At these words, at this _accusation,_ Merlin glowered and snapped back with ferocity.

“No. I’m going to _make you see_ that William was wrong,” he lowered his voice. “You are special and you alone can draw out that sword.”

Time made no movement to press on, allowing the pair a moment to slip out of the present and into an endless stretch of seconds. Merlin’s eyes radiated everything Arthur was too afraid to, their electric stare set the forest ablaze. Everything was burning blue and crimson red. Arthur felt the _will,_ the _desire_ Merlin had for him to succeed in this. But it was more than that; Merlin was so _certain_ that this could be done. He loved him, _trusted him._ However, this desperate, selfless sensation to see Arthur become all he could be – it was overpowering, to think somebody could love him _that much._ Merlin did. A newfound swell of courage spread through his veins. Merlin was _right,_ they’d faced many things together and pulling a sword out of a rock was by far _not_ the most compromising or life-threatening. Time chose this moment to spring them back into the present.

It happened before Arthur could think about it. His hands reached for the blade, wrapping around the hilt tightly. He stared intensely at the sword, then at the stone, deciphering how he could somehow pull it out. At first he tried brute strength and tried to literally _heave_ the blade from the stone. Clasping the sword tighter, he rested one foot against the stone, using his entire body to _pull_ and _pull_ with all the strength he could muster. A few seconds in and he was panting, sweat dripping down his forehead. He didn’t give up. He continued pulling, frantically trying to do what it seemed only he _could_ do. Only right now, he _couldn’t_ do it. The doubts flickered in his mind and after one tug too many, his body unexpectedly gave way. Falling to the ground, Arthur winced at the singe of pain. His muscles burned, his heart was racing. His breath was ragged and uneven.

Nobody said a word. Gwen cupped her mouth with her hands; Morgana gritted her teeth, fiery eyes locked on her brother.

“You have to believe Arthur,” Merlin whispered as Arthur got back onto his feet and slowly made his way towards the sword. “You are _destined_ for this.”

He put both his hands on the hilt once more, clutching it desperately. He _had_ to do this. If he didn’t pull this sword out now, the People would _never_ follow him into battle. They all believed he could do it. Merlin’s voice lulled his worries, and he loosened his grip on the sword.

“Nothing not even this _stone_ can stand in your way.”

Releasing the sword, Arthur eyed it pensively, Merlin’s words running through his head. This time, he raised one hand tentatively to the hilt. Inhaling a deep breath he clasped his eyes shut. Everything depended on this moment, this was the turning point for Albion, for _himself._ Taking a step forwards, Merlin swallowed-hard, watching the scene.

“Have _faith.”_

Arthur did. He had more faith than ever before, crashing down upon him all at once. He could feel the _faith_ of every Druid here rushing towards him. He could feel Aithusa, Kilgarrah, he could even feel _Albion._ It was in his heart, the _dragon heart._ His magic coursed through his veins, warming his skin. There it was, he could feel it, that name. He was the Once and Future. Right now, in this moment, he was never surer of anything in his life. _He_ was the Once and Future. He was going to pull this sword out and stop his father. He was going to save Albion. With one motion he pulled upwards, and the sound of metal against stone sounded through his ears. Opening his eyes slowly, he watched as the sword slipped out of the stone, rising into air, in _his hand._ Determinedly he held it there, gazing out at the silent crowd before him.

Blinking back tears, Merlin gaped as the blade effortlessly came free from the stone, plunging triumphantly in the air. Arthur had _done it._ He had freed Excalibur from the stone. A broad smile swept over his face, the tears now inescapable and frequent. His Arthur, he had finally proven to _himself_ what everybody else already knew. Aithusa let out a strident roar, blue flames spurting into the air, followed by Kilgarrah and with that the Druids began chanting, singing, screaming. All cheering for _Arthur._ He felt his lips betray him a wobbly smile etch over his face, revealing his teeth. He gazed over to Morgana who was beaming, Gwaine was grinning and Leon was staring at Arthur in complete _awe._ Zelina practically melted into a mush of angst and unrequited love (or lust- it was hard to tell). It was William’s reaction that stunned Arthur, he was… _smiling._ The Druid that _hated his guts_ was smiling? Confidence renewed, Arthur thrust the sword higher in the air, the cheering grew louder and more dominant, echoing across Iaonem.

Arthur took this moment to look back at Merlin, bursting into a stream of laughter emanating pure glee and victory. The Druid was crying, a broad smile on his face. Eyes flashing gold, Merlin outstretched his palm and Excalibur and _Arthur_ for that matter began to glow in the sunlight, appearing otherworldly almost. Arthur raised his eyebrows at Merlin in disapproval who shrugged innocently, unable to stop smiling. He didn’t care that he was probably embarrassing the blonde man more than necessary. Everything was coming into place, the final surge of hope spread over the people.

Arthur had pulled out the legendary Excalibur from the ancient stone.

Arthur had risen to the test of the old rulers.

 _Arthur Pendragon_ was the Once and Future.

And for the first time, Arthur _believed_ it.

**♦☼♦**

 “You did it then.” The voice detached Arthur from his training session. He lowered the beautiful Excalibur, gazing over to the man in shock. For a moment he remained silent, unsure what to say to the man. Beneath those words was a confession; he could _hear_ it, even if Will was too stubborn to admit it. What this confession _meant_ however was another matter entirely. Offering a weak smile, Arthur walked towards him.

“You’re not _the only one_ who was surprised.” He admitted with a breathy laugh, gazing down at the blade in his hands in awe. He had pulled this sword out of solid stone, _alone._ How he had done it still baffled him. But it didn’t matter because he _had done it_ to his own astonishment. The brown haired man took a step closer, swallowing-hard. Raising his eyebrows, Arthur decided to make things easier for Will.

“Come on then, aren’t you going to tell me you still don’t trust me, or that pulling out this sword means nothing?” a small smirk slid over his lips. He was too exhilarated with the success of the day to take heart to anything Will had to say. Feeling the tension dribble from his skin, the blonde continued for good measure with a hint of sarcasm. “Alongside summoning the White Dragon and freeing your people from Camelot, of course it’s all a wicked ploy.”

 _Of course;_ he was certain Merlin would have scolded him for his teasing by now. But Merlin wasn’t here and who said a little verbal onslaught (subtle at that) was harmful? William had dealt enough lashings of his sharp tongue in the past six months after all. It was at this moment that Arthur established the man _hadn’t_ replied. Funny. William never seemed reluctant to snap back at him. He seemed reserved, posture straight and lips parted slightly. As no response came, Arthur decided rather than standing there waiting for a reply he would put his time to good use. He went back to hauling his sword against the tree trunk, silk blue cloak swinging behind him enigmatically. After four slashes, Will finally spoke. His next words caught Arthur completely off-guard.

“I wasn’t surprised.”

Arthur nearly _dropped_ his sword as he stumbled forwards. Stunned at the _lack_ of assault and insults thrown his way, Arthur gazed at Will, as if seeing him for the first time. They met eyes across the clearing hesitantly. Arthur narrowed his eyes, trying to weed out the true motives behind these _nice_ words, because Will had _never_ been _nice_ to him just to be nice. To his confusion, he found nothing but sincerity, a very well masked sincerity at that. Will averted his eyes almost reservedly, backing away from Arthur. Dumbfounded, Arthur watched the man fade into the bustle of Iaonem. _What_ on _earth_ had just happened? Was this a strange gesture of acceptance or withdrawal? Whatever it was, it led to Arthur’s – totally involuntarily – smiling into the amber sunlight.

**♦☼♦**

The moment Arthur pulled the sword from the stone was the moment Morgana was _certain_ that Uther could not win this battle. Albion was strong, she was _invincible._ Morgana had watched, infinitely proud, tears spewing from her eyes as her brother unsheathed the mighty weapon from its resting place. The sun had shone down upon him, depicting him as a reverent angel, bringing transcendence and joy to the People. The moment had been perfect, and she would never forget what he had done. Arthur, her brother. He had found the White Dragon, he had freed the people, and he had claimed Excalibur. He was a hero, a _legend,_ a myth and a reality. A sad smile dusted her lips. She half-expected _Leon_ to be dancing around like a mindless child, completely enamored by the legends and magical history.

He wasn’t, to say the least.

In fact, he was sat pensively, hands in his lap, staring out across Iaonem. Morgana had a feeling this wouldn’t bode well, for Leon had always been a noble, generous man. He would not sit back and watch the People prepare for battle, unless something grave was troubling him. She feared she knew _exactly_ what it was only she didn’t want to admit it to herself. They had barely spoken since her… _public_ admission of her gifts, which was less of an admission and more of a surprise to most. Looking back, she figured declaring she’d had an important vision loudly in the middle of Iaonem wasn’t the _best_ way to tell him. Nonetheless, the vision _was_ important and she had needed Merlin’s guidance. Not that Leon was unimportant. But they were going to _war._ Feelings and sentiments clouded judgement, got in the way. It would have to be cast aside and forgotten for a moment.

After days of meticulously dancing around him, avoiding his eyes like a plague and yet watching his every move, Morgana decided it was probably time to talk to him. Her hands were clammy, eyes wide. It would have helped if she knew what on _earth_ she was going to say. Raking a hand through her untamed black hair, she sighed. A voice from behind caused her to jump, eyes flashing gold in warning momentarily. Her shock faded when she met the amused expression on Arthur’s face. He was leaning against his sword, the tip pressed into the ground.

“You should speak to him, he hasn’t been himself lately.” He admitted, gesturing over towards Leon knowingly. For a moment she let her guard slip, allowing Arthur to witness the worry that flashed through her eyes. Satisfied at her reaction, he leant over his sword, lips tugging upwards.

“You mustn’t be afraid to show that you _care_ for him Morg.”

This only received a snort and a snide remark in return.

“Are you trying to counsel me dear brother?” Morgana tilted her head coyly, a grin slipping over her mouth.

Arthur’s eyes lit up in glee, sparing with his sister was just too much fun and so hard to resist. She seemed to forget in heated moments like this that he knew her better than _anyone_ in the world. They’d spent their lives together, grown up together. She was the closest family he had left in the world. Fondly, he leant closer over the sword, gazing into her eyes.

“Don’t be so _defensive_ ,” he goaded her ego lightly, pulling what he hoped would be his amiable charm. A second later his expression darkened, voice low and full of honesty. “I’m _trying_ to help you. All you’ve done the past few days is wear yourself out with your gifts.”

Morgana smiled weakly, understanding his concern. She _had_ been working endlessly to control her visions under the guidance of Taliesin. It wasn’t _easy_ and was time-consuming. But it was necessary, beneficial to the good of Albion, to _save_ it. Yes she hadn’t slept well for _days,_ or managed to appreciate the company of good friends. Once this was all over, she would. Arthur seemed to have guessed what she was thinking effortlessly and continued.

“You’ve been spending _all_ your time forecasting the future and whilst that’s brilliant and helpful, you’re forgetting something.” Pause. “The _present.”_

A laugh escaped her lips, startling the blonde. All at once the release of tension, the fatigue overbearing her system poured from her skin. A _genuine_ smile cast over her face, eyes twinkling with mirth and the passion they always retained. Raising his eyebrows inquisitively, he gestured for her to explain her peculiar reaction to his words. Nonetheless, he was relieved to see his sister _happy_ again.

“Merlin warned me this would happen.”

Arthur was too blissfully aware of her smile to notice the dark undertone to her words, the severity embedded beneath the light delicacy. Pressing a hand against her shoulder comfortingly, Arthur smiled.

“He’s right. You should heed his words, he’s a wise man.” Immediately he gazed around the clearing and poked a finger in his sister’s face. “But you didn’t hear that from _me.”_

“Oh gods forbid Merlin knowing you’ve given him a _complement.”_ She said humourously.

“In _all_ seriousness,” Arthur snapped, though his eyes still sparkled with mischief. “This could be the last night we are all together…” the gravity of that statement seemed to slow time, allowing a wave of comprehension to crash over them. Until now, Uther’s arrival had been nothing but a whisper among the resistance. But it _was_ happening, and it was coming. “Don’t push away the people you care for Morg, not now with what’s at stake. There’s no telling what will happen out there tomorrow, what we will face-“

“Are you quite finished with your doom and gloom speech?” Morgana asked with a labored sigh glancing over to Leon. She turned back to him quickly, afraid he’d seen. Gripping his sword in his hand, Arthur smirked in amusement. His eyes flickered between her and Leon in the background.

“For now.” He picked his sword up from the ground, slinging it over his shoulder casually. “Come find me after you’ve snogged Leon senseless-”

“-Shut- _up_ Arthur!”

**♦☼♦**

This was the final speech, the final communal moment together. It was sacred, _special._ Hunith had _insisted_ on Arthur changing out of his worn shirt and into the new sapphire shirt she had made. It matched his draping cloak perfectly. As did the delicate silver headdress on his head, twisting and coiling as if to replicate woven branches. He felt like more than a leader, almost like…a _king._ It unnerved him, yet Merlin had _insisted._ Emrys and the Once and Future needed to _look_ the part, at least when delivering the final affirmation, the final goodbye to those who would fall in the battle, the final declaration for freedom and justice. Arthur gazed over to him, admiring the long staff in his hands and that mesmerising golden headdress that rested on his head. His usual attire had been traded for a crimson jacket, far smarter and graceful. The leaders of the gathered Clans stood behind Merlin and Arthur on the platform, the two Dragons boldly behind them. Arthur studied the Druids, knowing that there were _thousands_ of people listening and waiting.

“Tomorrow,” Merlin called out across the vast crowd of people, hands clenched to his side. “Albion’s great trial begins. We face a great threat; one that believes it can ruin our land, and take everything we hold dear. Seven months ago, Uther Pendragon came to Albion, and cast a shadow over this land. He has captured our friends, family, extracted their magic, murdered innocent lives in the name of Camelot.” A smile slipped over his lips as he turned to Arthur. “We must also remember that seven months ago, _Arthur Pendragon_ also came to Albion, with the intention to _lift that shadow._ Arthur has undone his father’s dark legacy, freed our people from their nightmares. As the Naiimen used to say: the darkest hour is just before dawn,” Merlin’s voice rose, intensifying with his words. “This is our darkest hour, and I truly believe that the Golden Age of Albion is nearing. Within this time of exile and condemnation, one heart _has_ revealed itself to be a daemon. But another, a Dragon. And I _know_ that in this time of darkness, where man is full of greed and bitterness, that there _is_ a new dawn approaching.” a tumultuous sound of cheering bought him to a standstill for a moment. “We must have faith, be brave and never lose sight of that dawn, because it’s _coming._ We’re _going_ to save Albion and we’re going to do it together.” Pause. “We will create an unparalleled kingdom, a haven for magic and its humble friends. Our time has come, and Albion will rise higher than it has ever done before.”

Merlin smiled over to Arthur warmly who took this as a gesture he should say a few words. Taking a step forwards, Arthur smiled at his people, his family, his friends.

“Remember that _we_ have the homefeild advantage in this battle,” he said. “We know these forests, we know this land, we _understand_ Albion – they don’t. Their weapons may be powerful, but we have the force of nature on our side. Tomorrow my father arrives, and he will show us no mercy. If anyone wishes not to fight we will not condemn you, but this is your final chance to walk away.” Silence. A few heads turned to gaze around the large crowd, wondering if anybody would turn away. Not _one_ person made a sound; the whole of Iaonem was quiet. The gesture touched Arthur, adding newfound resilience and pride to his voice. “You’re not fighting because someone’s ordering you to, you’re fighting for _so much_ more than that. You fight for your family, you fight for your friends,” abruptly his voice rose in volume. “You’re fighting for you _very right_ to survive. FOR ALBION!” Plunging his sword into the air, he watched in awe as the People began to chant ‘for Albion’. Aithusa and Kilgarrah roared, majestically spreading their wings. The Clan Leaders raised their weapons into the air behind them, and Merlin lifted the wooden staff, eyes flashing gold. Magic added an electric atmosphere, bringing the crowd to life. The chanting became rife with passion and determination.

_For Albion, for Albion, for Albion…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH everybody for reading this story. We're almost at the end now and I've had a blast writing it. I won't be updating for 3/4 weeks because I'm having an operation and also I have a heap of work to get through! But rest assured, I will update :)


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE BIG BATTLE IS HERE! I've been planning this fight for some time. I've been studying my favourite fantasy battles (LOTR, WotW...ect) , experimenting with what works and what doesn't. 
> 
> So far I have 20,000 words for the battle... gonna be a big battle guys. 
> 
> Thank you to EVERYBODY for reading so far. This story has become a major, massive project of mine. I can't believe it's over 200,000 words long. I wouldn't continue to write if it weren't for knowing people enjoy it, so thank you. 
> 
> There's a few things you can download for this chapter. I'll link them at the end (lots of notes for this one)
> 
> ENJOY - at least I hope you do because I've given this my all!

 

All around the curiously silent Iaonem, the signs of war were slipping into focus as the dawn approached. From the fading colour in people’s complexions, to the hand-woven flags (a crimson dragon) that hung high in the trees. War was imminent. Fear and hope meshed together messily, creating as a result conflicting scenes around the camp. The dew on the leaves threatened to overpower and consume the vegetation, the sunlight suddenly had the ferocity to set everything ablaze, the wind was howling scornfully and then it was weeping mournfully _._ Everybody had awoken; the sound of gunfire and destruction was upon the horizon, pillars of black smoke rising in the East. It wasn’t difficult to establish that most settlements in the East were now slowly crumbling, their foundations cracking as Camelot continued to rain down on the land.

Iaonem was quiet. All ready for the next step, the step into the dark, praying that it would carry them back into the light. Belongings were huddled together, hoisted across shoulders, weapons were unsheathed, and signs of a settlement were hidden through delicate and meticulous spells conjured by the Elders of Ealdor and Merlin. As the sun crept up on them, revealing the day, the People prepared themselves. Many had dark rims under their eyelids, some their faces were as fresh as Spring in Monus, or as bright as Summer in Ealdor. Sleep had been necessary, but it hadn’t been _easy_ for many. It hung over them like a curse, a reminder of what was to come the next day. War. Bloodshed. Battle.

Mother’s caressed their children’s tangled hair, singing them soothing lullabies to lure them into the night’s embrace, lover’s lay close together, exchanging secrets and whispering unspoken truths in fear it may be there last night on earth together, warrior’s polished their weapons silently. The blanket of diamonds above in the sky had plunged the whole of Albion into a wistful sleep, and with the unknown upon the horizon, the extra sparkle – a gesture of compassion and hope - amid the stars had been appreciated.

Now it was time to initiate the plan, to go to war and fight for Albion’s freedom. Despite the clear skies, the cloudless horizon, there was a shadow cast over Iaonem in the final hour of sunrise. The final hour that the People of Albion were restored, were _together._ It was the last sunrise for many, the final light they would ever see. Clenching his teeth, Arthur watched the orange sun slowly morph into a shimmering jewel, the silhouette of the land fade away into verdant green and lush forests. Beside him, Merlin stood, swallowing-hard as he too determinedly stared into the distance. Unexpectedly, he began to sing. His unrefined, yet surprisingly melodic, voice carried out among the silent statues of Iaonem.

 

_This light may be our very last_

_This light may be the death of us_

_But it will never be the final light_

_To touch upon the sacred stone_

_To weave between the hills_

_To carry through the Mountains_

_To illuminate our home._

_This land is our own,_

_This land is our own._

Flickering his gaze between Merlin and the sunrise, Arthur heard the rumbling behind him grow into a mass communal voice, all singing this ancient song into the distance. The song had a charismatic, magical quality to it, the melody taking unexpected twists and turns, constantly leading into interesting and never repeating musical realms. Arthur’s vision slipped past Merlin and to Leon who was singing along, eyes glistening with glee. He almost rolled his eyes at the sight. Of _course_ Leon – Magic-Druid expert – would know the song.

 

_This day may be the final day_

_This day may be the day we fear_

_But it will never be the very last_

_To witness the beast and the bird_

_To hear the river’s gentle song_

_To feel the magic in the earth_

_To live among our home._

_This land is our own._

_This land is our own._

Turning around, Arthur studied the thousands of people behind him, all engaging in this chant. There was the sound of thick deep bass, high-lifting feminine voices, even the dark undertones of Kilgarrah and Aithusa attempting to hum along. The sound was uplifting, solemn yet joyous. Part of Arthur was grateful Morgana, Lancelot and Gwaine didn’t know the song too, but another part of him realised it didn’t matter. He still felt part of this vast network of voices blending with each other. A smile weaved onto his lips, as he pressed his hand to Merlin’s shoulder who also shared the smile whilst singing the song.

 

_There may be new among the old_

_There may be strangers here_

_But this mighty land will linger on_

_To tell the tales of Naiimen time_

_To share the ancient Dragon’s call_

_To keep the secrets safe from harm_

_To remember our blessed home_

_This land is our own._

_This land is our own._

_This light may be our very last_

_This light may be the death of us_

_But it will never be the final light_

_To touch upon the sacred stone_

_To weave between the hills_

_To carry through the Mountains_

_To illuminate our home._

_This land is our own,_

_This land is our own._

As the final drone of voices faded into silent, all eyes on the sunrise, a universal feeling swept through Iaonem. Magic rushed through every body, through every soul and heart. It sent electric shivers down your spine, watered your eyes, quickened your breath. The sensation faded almost as fast as it appeared, leaving a nothing but a dwindling tingle upon their skin. And then it was all over, because the sun had risen. Wordlessly, people diverted their attention from the sun. Soft murmurs and tender goodbyes began to sound across the settlement. Arthur’s eyes lingered on the horizon for a moment longer than the rest, a frown touching his features. As the words of the song revealed, this light would be the last for many, it could be the death of hundreds. His hands moved to the sword on his belt, clasping the hilt tightly.

His father was coming. He’d be here less than a few hours.

**♦☼♦**

There was a divide among the people: the warriors and the vulnerable. It was a subtle divide, for even the vulnerable wanted to fight despite being advised not to do so. It had been decided that the children and elderly needed to seek refuge during the battle. Thus a majority of volunteers would have to stay with the children and the weak, for there would be no guarantee this refuge would remain safe. It had to be guarded and protected. Gwen had been the first to offer her services devotedly, alongside Hunith. Among the many others were Morgana, Keita and Gaius. It was a strong team; a team that no only mastered compassion, but could wield a weapon and fight for survival. It wasn’t this Merlin was worried about. He was worried about separating from many of his friends.

“You must be careful,” Gaius advised the two men sternly. “Uther and his men are strong, ruthless. They are not afraid to murder and kill in the name of Camelot.”

Frowning, Merlin listened to his old friend’s words solemnly. Beside him, Arthur studied Gaius quietly. It was strange, how both of them knew Gaius as this fatherly figure, how they both revered him for his company as children. Two completely different worlds, Gaius had seamlessly woven into both. If at his age Gaius was willing to risk everything to go between Albion and Camelot, well, it did make Arthur wonder what Gaius was like back in his day. Those ageing eyes were clever, never revealing his past, but yet they held the key to it.

“That will be their undoing.” Arthur said, and Merlin twisted his lips in uncertainty at that statement but nonetheless didn’t question the words. Instead he questioned Gaius.

“You will keep safe?” it sounded more like a statement than a question, yet Merlin’s anxiety was evident for those around to hear it. Gaius nodded, offering a final glance between the two men he had known since babies.

“I am proud of you both. You have grown from the meddlesome children I knew into great men.”

Merlin scoffed at the word meddlesome, surely that fitted _Arthur_ more than himself. Nonetheless, he accepted the complement, warmth filling his chest; Gaius was _proud_ of him. Would his father be proud of him now? With that, Gaius hurried towards a crying child. The young girl was inconsolable as her older brother, who was determined to fight in the battle, bid farewell. Merlin watched the older brother – Jyuna to his astonishment –walk away, tears framing his eyes, blade clenched in his hand. The image was a painful reminder that this war, it was going to stretch families and friends apart, it was going to tear the seams that held people together. The thought of family panicked him slightly, and he desperately searched for Hunith among the crowd.

“You all know where to go?” Arthur called out to the volunteers escorting the children and the old as Merlin spotted his mother.

His hands rested on her shoulders. Hunith’s internal wounds from the destruction of Ealdor had still not been healed. Her eyes were beginning to glass over, a hazy aura enshrouding her at times that upset Merlin beyond belief. His mother had always been determined and resolute, to see her so fragile and defenceless – it _scared_ him. Concern was etched onto his face, deep into his sapphire eyes. Smiling weakly, Hunith cupped her son’s face lovingly for a moment, indicating that she knew the path.

Despite her acknowledgement, it wasn’t enough. He needed to _hear it_ aloud. Merlin released his mother, turning to Gwen imploringly. She took a step forwards; a gentle smile brightened her face. As expected, she understood Merlin without him having to say a word.

“We’ll be at the Iaonam tunnels, not far west of Iaonem,” Her words soothed Merlin’s apprehension. She met Arthur’s eyes to also assure him. Clasping Merlin’s hand, Gwen friend squeezed it comfortingly. Will took this moment to step forwards, joining his two old friends. It had been some time since the three of them were fully united, as they were many years ago. Tensions had been high the past few months, their friendship perilously close to breaking. Everything had changed now; they’d all found love and new horizons. But they still were the best of friends.

“Take care G.” he said, drawing her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around him, the protective streak evident. After all, she had been the one to rescue Will from Camelot, to ensure he came back to Albion. The pair had shared a great adventure, but the three of them had shared many more adventures together in Albion. Be it chasing Wildrens to tracking Unicorns and playing pranks on the Elders. A smile lit up Merlin’s face at the memories. He watched the pair fondly and was unable to restrain himself for diving in to join their embrace.

“ _Merlin_!” Gwen cried in mirth, startled as they toppled backwards a little. Laughing, Merlin avoided Will’s playful shove as the embrace faded into their minds. Will cast Gwen one final glance before darting back to Freya’s side, allowing Merlin and Gwen to finish whatever conversation he had clearly sabotaged.

“I’ll look after Hunith for you.” Gwen whispered loud enough for only him to hear. Sighing, Merlin nodded in gratitude.

“You have such a good heart Gwen.” He admitted. “Don’t _ever_ lose that.”

Gwen wasn’t _stupid._ She’d known Merlin for years; they’d been the best of friends. Through the years she had come to learn his emotional spectrum and how he delivered it. Sometimes he would try to fake a smile, and she would be the only one –aside from Hunith- able to see the cracks in it. To think he was trying to mask himself to her now, was almost insulting. She could hear the dejection in Merlin’s voice, his unspoken _goodbye._ When theirs eyes met, she raised her voice defiantly.

“Stop it Merlin. I _know you_.” Surprised, Merlin laughed. He should have known better than to try and fool Gwen. Leaning towards him urgently, she continued. “Believe me, we’ll be fine.”

Merlin smiled bleakly, nervously.

“Of course we’ll be fine,” a new voice added. Merlin averted his eyes towards Morgana; a smirk smoothing over her pale complexion. “I already _know_ it’s safe there.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur snorted at her rather arrogant comment. Trust Morg to _gloat_ about her gifts.

“Show-off.”

Morgana tilted her head coyly in response, meeting her brother’s eyes with untamed affection. She walked towards him slowly.

“At least I’m not a…” Grinning, she glanced over to the dark-haired man, feigning innocence. “What was it Merlin?-”

“-Prat.” Merlin willingly supplied with a chuckle; Arthur scowled at him for participating in Morgana’s teasing. Her grin widened into something teasing and almost sinister.

“Yes, _that.”_ she mused jauntily, studying her brother with pensive eyes. The pair stood close to one another, now silent and contemplative. They’d been through much together the past few months. Lies, secrets, pain, devastation. Their bond had always been strong, ever since they were children. For a moment, Arthur saw a remnant of that childish fiend who used to sneak into his room and tell him magical stories, the lonely girl who had awful nightmares. Their bond was stronger than ever. That much he was certain. There was still tension between them, which was his own doing, but it had faded into the background of what always lingered.

“You,” Arthur began, amusement dancing in his sapphire eyes. “Stay out of trouble.”

He had to wait less than a heartbeat for her chiding response. She was always keeping on his toes.

“I’m not a _child_ Arthur.” She snapped, the venom instantly fading as he drew her into his arms. Returning the embrace she met his eyes once more warmly. “You…stay out of trouble too.”  

Releasing her, Arthur turned to Gwen who bowed her head formally at him, pulling her yellow dress out at the ends. Merlin smiled fondly at the kind, compassionate woman. She was so loyal, so _modest._ Gwen had no idea of her importance to Albion, no sense of pride. Without Gwen, Merlin feared the Ealden people would have never made it to Iaonem. Without Gwen, Arthur would not have been healed. She had saved many lives with her gentle touch and caring heart. If Arthur’s smile was anything to go by, he established this too.

“Gwenevere,” he said, voice low and charming. “You of all people do not need to bow to me. We are friends.” Reluctantly she lifted her head and met his eyes cautiously. He patted her shoulder. “I know you will do all you can for them. Just do what you can for yourself too.”

Nodding with a smile, she took a step back. Calhoun ran into her arms, a few other children crowded round her also. A tanned, handsome man strode towards her; Lancelot. Merlin was unable to hear their conversation, but saw only love radiating from their eyes. Arthur watched with a soft smile, before turning to Morgana. He raised his eyebrows, clearly implying something to do with Leon by the comical yet severe gaze. She averted his gaze stubbornly before striding towards Hunith and Gaius.

Calhoun’s face turned crimson as he Lancelot dove towards Gwen, capturing her lips in a searing, honest kiss. Then he kissed her hand and made his way towards Gwaine who whistled teasingly at him. Embarrassed and startled, Gwen pressed a finger to her tingling lips, eyes darting over to Merlin who smirked cheekily back.

It was then silence fell upon the two divided groups; they could not stay here forever. Smirk fading into an echo of a smile, Merlin turned his back to Hunith, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, afraid they would see the tears in his eyes and the tremble of his lips. Lifting his head towards Arthur, he nodded and took another step forwards to the east. The warriors understood the gesture; it was time to go. Gwen and Morgana began to walk to the west, children and older Druids following in pursuit. As the two groups divided, Merlin spared a glance backwards over his shoulder before pushing forwards. Within a few minutes, the great and brief settlement of Iaonem was empty and vacant.

Behind Merlin and Arthur, the Clan rulers and Will, the Druids were conversing quietly between themselves, either discussing tactics or telling each other about their families. For a few more moments, the front of the crowd was silent, no utterings spoken. The Clan leaders were clearly deep in thought, a line of resilience behind Emrys and the Once and Future. Merlin felt a little guilty, for he could sense Will’s discomfort, the feeling that he simply didn’t belong here and should perhaps go further back in the crowd. With one calculated look, Merlin prevented his friend from doing so. Instead, Will walked beside Gwaine, newfound confidence rising as they delved into a playful verbal fight.

“What was that song?” Arthur asked absently, _finally_ breaking the silence. He feigned nonchalance as they stalked through the forest away from Iaonem to find a suitable spot to take flight. Kilgarrah and Aithusa walked beside the pair silently. Gazing over to the blonde man, Merlin smiled softly. He had wondered when Arthur would ask him.

“A song of old,” He replied rather enigmatically. Raising his eyebrows, because he _knew_ that much, Arthur gestured for him to continue. Pulling himself up the steep hill with the staff, Merlin turned to Kilgarrah pensively. “A song that the Naiimen sung during their great war. It has been passed down for thousands of years, from parent to child.” Pause. “It’s a song that commemorates the fallen, affirms the living.”

“I’ve never heard you sing before.” Arthur remarked, the sentiment behind the vague statement clear. A slight flush swept over Merlin’s cheeks, a knowing smirk slipped over Gwaine’s lips as he listened to their exchange from behind.  

“Well, William’s the best singer.” Merlin replied with a sly grin, evidently teasing the man as he glanced over to his right mischievously. Averting his eyes to Will, Arthur smirked, a rush of relief sweeping through him when Will moderately acknowledged him. To say Arthur was still confused about where he stood with the man was an understatement, but now – on the brink of war – it was no time to address such matters.

“I bet.” Gwaine interjected playfully, shoving the ‘ray of sunshine’ with his shoulder gently; Lancelot chuckled softly at the gesture.

“You’re not funny.” The feisty man snapped back in response, a lack of bite to his tone, replaced with a suppressed laugh and fondness that had taken an age to blossom. Holding a hand to his mouth to stifle his laugh, Merlin gazed upon his old friend affectionately. Although unsure what exactly had triggered Will’s change of heart, Merlin definitely wasn’t complaining. He was glad that finally William was on good terms with Arthur and his friends, now they could _truly_ fight as a team without division or blatant disdain.

Freya linked her hand with Will’s, shaking her head humorously at Gwaine. She avoided eye contact with Arthur, to which was completely understandable. If Merlin recalled correctly, their first conversation a few days ago had begun with her saying ‘sorry I tried to…eat you’ to which Arthur replied ‘it’s okay, we all have off days’. Freya was too sincere and anxious to fully understand Arthur’s sarcasm, Merlin had to turn his back and walk away in fear he’d burst out laughing at the awkward exchange.

Arthur’s voice brought him back to the present.

“This is it. Breguoin.”

There was resignation in his voice, resignation that Merlin was simply adamant to ignore. Plunging his sword into the ground, Arthur looked out to the rocky plain of Breguoin. The terrain was lined with trees, enough to aid the Druids in agility and escape, but not enough to cause issues with visibility or aim. Its outskirts were mountainous and hilly which would no doubt slow Camelot. It also had a vicious, nasty surprise, which Merlin agreed could work to their advantage.

Breguoin had ‘hidden traps’, crevasses in the earth due ancient tectonic work beneath the land. When in battle, one could _easily_ forget to look at the ground they’re standing on, and take a step forwards only to fall into a dark abyss. It was where the Naiimen had fought once, centuries ago. Mt Breguoin was a foreboding place also, for the edge of that mountain was a deadly cliff that led directly into one of the crevasses. It stood in the centre of the plain, taller than the hills, but far shorter than a mountain.

The low terrain of Breguoin gave it a surreal, ominous feel against the striking high hills and mountains that ran along its area. The rising of Mt Breguoin against the sun cast a giant shadow over the plain. Turning his attention to the vast crowd behind, Merlin inhaled a deep breath nervously. He hoped the plan would work. Arthur grasped his shoulder comfortingly before addressing the front line.

“You know the plan. We have less than a few hours before my father gets here with his army. But we _are_ strong, and we _can_ defeat them. Remember the plan,” lifting his sword from the ground, he turned to one of the Clan leaders. “Elätha, you and your men are masters of the mountains, and archery. Lead them to the hills as discussed.” Elätha bowed his head towards Arthur and Merlin, leading a mass of people away from the sight.

Lancelot was among them, standing before his two friends before following Elätha.

“Watch yourself Lance,” Arthur said extending his hand. Reaching for it, Lancelot smiled and shook it firmly. His eyes darted towards Merlin whose grip on his hand was far tighter than Arthur’s had been, indicating worry. Lancelot said nothing on the matter and left the pair with Elätha and his men, a beautiful wooden bow slung around his shoulder.

“Ryol and Ïalvy will occupy the right side of the plain. Gwaine.” Pausing, Arthur smiled fondly at his friend. “You man the centre field. Set up a line of defence with the Elders, Laísrean and Rægan will arrange the second line of defence.” Nodding, Gwaine brushed past Arthur, shaking hands fiercely with Merlin who then drew him into a hug.

“Be careful Gwaine.” He hissed, releasing the man hesitantly. Trepidation overcame him as he watched the vast array of People begin to take their positions for the war. Merlin couldn’t help feel that this was now beyond his control. There were _thousands_ of people here. Not everybody would make it back. He couldn’t protect everybody, not even _Arthur_ would be fully under his protection as they fought. Gwaine seemed ignorant of this fact, cheerfully grinning back at him.

“Careful,” the rugged man retorted with a wink. “Now where’s the fun in that Merlin?”

Sighing, Merlin’s austere gaze followed Gwaine as he marched into the distance, Druids trailing behind him bravely down the hill towards the plain.

“Gaius...?” The old man lifted his head in response to his name. At this name, Merlin diverted his attention towards him, shaking his head in disapproval. _Gaius –_ Gaius _promised_ he would go with Gwen and Morgana! He had _sworn_ to stay with the children. Yet here he was, in his robes, no _weapon,_ and no defence. Taking a step forwards instinctively, Merlin raised his hand, silencing Arthur who blinked in confusion at the gesture. If Merlin honestly thought Arthur was going to _allow_ Gaius to go to war!

“No.” the raven-haired man spat determinedly, meeting the Gaius’ eyes with searing confidence. His voice became flustered, uneven. “ _No._ Go back to Iaonam-”

“-Merlin that’s not necessary-” the man attempted to explain but was met with a pleading, _hurt_ voice.

“-Gaius! I will not lose you again. I…” words trailing away, Merlin bit his lip, unable to fully express the sorrow, the poignant memories of Gaius and the laboratory.

“Merlin’s right of course,” Arthur added _evenly,_ raising his eyebrows at Gaius. “Which is why you and Alys will run the infirmary. Leon, Ysěult and countless others will be on the battlefield with the sole intention of healing the wounded. The severe cases that can be moved will come straight to you via these,” reaching into his pockets he pulled out one of Camelot’s teleporting devices that Morgana had taken from Camelot. “I _know_ the risks of teleporting when injured are high,” he glanced over to Merlin before he could interject. “But we have no other choice. No-one fit enough to live is going to be abandoned on that plain and left to die.”

Bowing his head, Gaius clasped his hands together. Relief swathed over Merlin, at least Arthur had managed to keep him off the battlefield and away from attention for good. Gaius offered the pair on final nod before he, Alys and the medical volunteers left to set-up a suitable position. With that, only a handful of people remained alongside Merlin and Arthur. Will stood with his Wyvern Fullmægen, Topia and her Wyvern Rannia, Bregurófne, Aithusa and Kilgarrah; Merlin had commanded Léohte to go to the caves of Iaonam, in fear her wing would put her in danger in the battle.

“Now we wait.” Merlin said grimly, swallowing-hard as he gazed upon the horizon.

“I fear we won’t have to wait long.” Topia of Saerion observed as she pointed towards the trees in the distance lined with smoke.

The four of them stood in an arc, Merlin and Arthur at the front with the Dragons, Will standing behind Merlin and Topia standing to Arthur’s left, also a little behind him.

“He’ll be here within the hour.” Arthur admitted, turning his gaze to Merlin who stared forwards decisively.

“Yes,” He hummed in agreement. “I can feel it.” There was a sharp bite to his voice, gesturing what Arthur had been sensing since the sunrise.

Arthur clasped his hand securely, gazing back out across Breguoin. Smiling, Merlin’s eyes darted from their hands to Arthur’s golden, beautiful face. It was amazing how Arthur was able to illuminate fear and doubt from him in an instance, how he could say _nothing_ and yet say everything. The blonde man swallowed-hard, narrowing his eyes. His voice rang through Merlin’s head clearly.

_Everyone has said their goodbyes to one another. Perhaps we should too._

Tightening his grip on Arthur’s hand, Merlin grit his teeth, staring out across the plain. Arthur’s words clearly affected him; he was foolish to think Arthur hadn’t noticed that they were the only two in the whole of Iaonem that had not acted as if this may be their last day together. Evidently he had, and he had been thinking about it if the depth to his voice was anything to go by. Taking a deep breath, Merlin replied back in his mind.

_We don’t need to._

The next words that filled Merlin’s mind resulted in him practically jumping on the Once and Future, propriety cast aside for a moment, pressing his lips firmly against Arthur’s like he’d been longing to do all morning but there hadn’t been an appropriate moment.

_Okay. But I just want you to know before um…you know…this…that. Oh for God’s sake-! I love you. There. I love you and- MERLIN!_

A small laugh escaped Merlin’s lips as they kissed. Meeting the blonde man’s eyes, he replied.

_I love you too, dollophead._

Adjusting themselves, Merlin grudgingly pulled away from Arthur and retained his powerful stance. Sheepishly Arthur cast a glance to Topia who simply smiled almost maternally, eyes darting between the pair dotingly. He fixed his tousled hair, fully aware that Will was a little stunned by the… _intensity_ of their kiss. Meeting Will’s eyes, he saw something surprising – acceptance. Yet again, this greatly confused him, yet now was not the time to dwell upon it. Merlin felt a smile tickle his lips.

His smile faded when it became clear that the dark cloud on the horizon wasn’t a cloud. It was an army. Ahead, protruding from the grey smoke was a battalion of machinery and weapons. Mercilessly, the trees fell as the forces on the ground ploughed through. Swallowing-hard, Merlin watched as the enemy loomed closer in the distance. There were still far, but they were _so_ close. Too close. They waited silently. All eyes rested on the approaching enemy. It was unclear how much time had passed before Arthur spoke.

“Get ready,” he hissed confidently, mounting Aithusa daintily on the beautiful silver and sapphire saddle Gwen had carefully woven. “They’re a lot closer than they look.”

Realising Arthur was correct, and the plain had slightly tangled his vision, Merlin leapt onto Kilgarrah’s back, lined with a black saddle he had quickly made for both himself and his Dragon. The gesture, riding a Dragon, was an ancient one that had to be respected. This had not occurred for over a thousand years. Topia and Will sat upon their Wyverns beside them, gazing out at the dark army that loomed closer to Mt Breguion. There was no open fire from either party yet. But it was only a matter of minutes before the stalemate dissolved into pure anarchy.

“They’re getting too close.” Topia observed uneasily as she studied the plain. Her words spurred on Will who readied his Wyvern into action.

“Wait for the signal.” Merlin calmly reminded, unsure if he was being listened to, but too focused on the dark army to check. Next he heard the flapping wings of a Wyvern, and Will’s voice. He had no choice but to intervene.

“This is it!” Will said determinedly.

Abruptly, Merlin spun around, his eyes gold and menacing. He met the Wyvern’s eyes directly, instantly stilling it with his power. Arthur glanced back cautiously, clasping Aithusa’s scales tighter. This has to be perfectly timed. One foot wrong, the whole battle could be compromised.

“Wait for the signal Will! Now of all times we cannot act spontaneously.” Merlin scorned, his voice a little more tense.  

Once sure Topia and Will were as settled as one could possibly be whilst waiting for imminent war, Merlin brought his attention back to the plain. In silence, they watched intently for Elätha and his men to begin firing their arrows. The dark army was stalking closer and closer, the deep rumbling of machinery echoing through their ears. The large planes and military vehicles were unnerving, rivalling the ferocity of a Dragon’s roar. The wait to take flight was agonising, _terrifying._ These were the final seconds of pseudo-peace, the final moments many would ever see. They passed too quickly.

“THAT’S IT!” Arthur roared.

Aithusa automatically sprung into action.

“FOR ALBION!” Merlin cried as Kilgarrah dived majestically into flight.

In a flash, the plain suddenly was animated. There was gunfire, there was magic. There was booming noise, yells of the Druids charging forwards valiantly. Elätha’s men continued to shoot arrows down mercilessly as Uther’s machines opened fire upon them.

The battle had begun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to note:
> 
> \- I've composed a melody for the Druid song Merlin begins to sing before the battle. It can be downloaded via the link at the end :) check it out and let me know what you think. 
> 
> \- I did some research. Breguoin is actually a battle from the Legend of King Arthur. It's got several names, but Breguoin fitted this story best I think. 
> 
> \- I tried to re-create the image I have of 'Breguoin' in my head by layering lots of photographs together and editing things. Came up with an image at the top and in the download. It's still so much more epic in my mind though!! 
> 
> \- Iaonem and Iaonam ARE different places in case you were thinking I'd made a typo. They're very close together, Iaonam is a little more to the West. (I'm going to make a big map for master post) 
> 
> \- There is a download link here for a folder containing: My composition, a map of Breguoin and where everybody is fighting and a track from Two Steps From Hell that fits this chapter: 
> 
> DL Link 1: http://www.mediafire.com/?yqs8soqa8vs4erg  
> DL Link 2: http://www.sendspace.com/file/stl5ke


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 5x13 killed me. Nonetheless, hope you all had a good Christmas!
> 
> So excited for this guys, this big battle begins. The battle is over 30,000 words - so I've divided it up into manageable chunks. I've tried to pace the action and suspense so hopefully it's a fun read.
> 
> I spent so long planning this battle and studying other books to try and make this battle as epic and as exciting as I could. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it,  
> I won't be able to update again until Saturday, but thank you for your patience.

Breguoin was echoing with the sounds of war. The sky was filled with menacing creations of man. To think there were only four riders, it was worrying. But Merlin and Kilgarrah were an expert team, weaving rapidly between the gunfire of the machines with ease. Eyes flashing gold, Merlin waved his hand at an aircraft to their right. The turbine powering the engine faltered, casting it downwards. Surging towards it, Kilgarrah grasped it with his talons, hauling it across the sky. It slammed into another aircraft, erupting into flames mid-air before exploding sadistically. Kilgarrah roared stridently, diving towards another machine that was no match for their great combined power.

Another helicopter opened fire on them. Merlin aimed his staff at them, creating a barrier between them and the bullets. In fact, it wasn’t just a barrier. The bullets bounced back, ricocheting against it. They hurdled back towards the helicopter, stilling the heartbeats of five men. Guilt was the first thing to cross Merlin’s mind. Perhaps not all these men were sole believers in Uther. Maybe some of them were forced to fight, some of them – clear by several attempts at poor shooting – weren’t even soldiers. Kilgarrah snorted at Merlin’s thoughts, swinging his tail around to strike another aircraft forcefully and knock it into another.

_This is no time to be remorseful young Warlock. The future of Albion is at stake._

Aithusa and Arthur rushed past them, almost in a demonstration of _their_ own power rather smugly. Without hesitation, Aithusa spewed blue flames from her mouth, destroying their closest enemy before it even could think about opening fire. As she did this, Arthur valiantly leapt onto a vessel behind them, Excalibur instantly working its magic as he fought the men on-board. By the time Aithusa had engulfed the vessel with flames, Arthur landed safely on her back, full of adrenaline. He’d seen this kind of wars in films, read about them in books. To think he was now engaged in one! Steering Aithusa to the right, narrowly missing a barricade of bullets, Arthur searched the skies for Merlin and Kilgarrah. They’d vanished.

**♦☼♦**

Flame torch in one hand, Calhoun clasped against the other, Gwen moved forwards with urgency. The Iaonam tunnels were narrow and dark, hardly the safe-haven Merlin had promised. Upon entering the tunnels, there had scarcely been room for two at a time. Morgana was the last to enter the tunnel, blade in one hand, gun in the other – both proved she was not to be meddled with. As they pushed forwards, some of the children became frightened, some cried for their parents, others already exhausted by the walk to the tunnels. Most of the Elderly had fallen behind, now led by Morgana who had only the echo of the flames ahead to guide her. Unfortunately, she had not yet managed to completely control her powers of prophecy, thus it was futile in this moment.

A newfound panic had swept over Gwen. She had never liked enclosed spaces. The tunnels seemed to be just getting smaller and smaller. Her pace slowed. Pushing the flame torch in front of her vigilantly, she frowned at the sight ahead. More narrow pathways, three. All of them led in different directions. Slowly walking towards the junction, she studied them carefully, as if expecting to see an indication of which one to take. They all looked identical, yet all led completely different ways. Swallowing-hard, she gripped the flame torch tighter, standing in front of them.

“How far are we Gwen?” Calhoun asked timidly, glancing back at the children who obediently came to a stop behind her.

Suddenly a loud boom sounded through out the cave. Then came the sound of gunfire and explosions. It had to mean one thing – the war had begun. Breguoin was only a few miles from here. Clamping her eyes shut for a moment, Gwen muttered a small prayer for her friends out on the battlefield, now engaged in war. The children became a little unsettled by the noise. Having caught up with them, Morgana ushered the Elderly forwards before gently pushing through the children towards the frozen Gwen.

“It’s begun.” Morgana stated, voice soft and pensive. There was no turning back from this now; it was _real._ As she met Gwen at the front, she noticed the three pathways ahead. Grimacing, she turned to Gwen who gazed at her imploringly.

“Can’t you…determine which one to take?” She suggested, gently stroking Calhoun’s hair as he clutched her hand tighter. Morgana shook her head in response, examining the three tunnels ahead. Her magic was not fully tamed, still raw. She was still unable to fully understand the spells required for certain tasks. One wrong word could completely change the spell. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Narrowing her eyes, she extended her hand towards Gwen.

“Pass me that torch.”

Gwen pushed the torch into her hands, watching the woman walk closer. She moved the torch around energetically whilst scrutinising the stone. The sounds of war plunged through their ears, slightly muffled due to their distance. Hunith shuddered at the loud rumbles, unsettled by the sounds. After a few seconds Morgana turned back to Gwen with a wistful smile.

“Merlin, he marked the way for us.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Gwen hastily stumbled forwards. She spotted the symbol engraved into the left tunnel’s wall. How Merlin had _found the time_ to mark out the tunnels whilst organising the resistance Gwen didn’t know. But she wasn’t surprised. Merlin would do anything for anyone. Panic fading, Gwen strode forwards into the left tunnel with Morgana. As they walked, the torch began to illuminate carvings on the walls, revealing that perhaps it was not Merlin who had left the symbol there. The children curiously admired the symbols on the stone beside them. A few let their fingers gently skim past the stone as they walked. In all her time in Ealdor, in Albion, Gwen had never seen symbols like these. Her intent gaze flickered from wall to wall.

“I’ve never seen symbols like it.” She confessed.

The engravings also baffled Morgana, who had subconsciously slowed her rapid pace to appreciate them.

“Do you think they’re Naiimen?”

“They are very old,” A foreign voice called out from the crowd flocking behind. The voice was laced with the strain of old-age and reminiscent mirth. Morgana and Gwen averted their attention to an old woman standing beside Hunith. “ _Before_ Naiimen times. It was once said that these tunnels saved many Druids in a time of great trial and war.”

“And so they will do again.” Gwen confirmed, allowing her resolve to break a little when she smiled down at Calhoun.

**♦☼♦**

Chaos was not quite the word for it. Uther had machines in the sky, machines on the land, mechanical methods of transportation that acted as defence for those inside. The first string of arrows, the signal, had barely made a scratch on the large aircraft. The rest of the plain was engulfed in war too, though it was difficult to see how extensive the damage was from up here. Lancelot had winced as one of the planes turned to them and unleashed endless streams of bullets upon them. The trees acted as shields. But many fell, not able to withstand the force. Elätha maintained his composure, expertly holding the bow in place whilst fastening a new arrow to it.

Many men were hit and as they fell slipped down into the Breguoin plain to their death. Many were beyond saving, too far to reach or either already dead. One archer hit on his shoulder beside Lancelot was rolling towards the edge. Reaching out, Lance tugged him back to his side.

“It’s okay.” He said, pushing his own teleporting device into the man’s hands. “Gaius and Alys will help you.” With that, the young wounded man disappeared, teleported to a safer part of the region.

The gunfire continued, and a majority of people tried to retreat in fear, realising they’d attacked something too strong.

“Hold your ground! We fight for Albion, for our freedom!” Elätha commanded, firing arrows effortlessly into the air. It still wasn’t enough to penetrate the metal beasts in the air. Swallowing-hard, Lancelot burrowed into the trees, spewing arrows from his bow gracefully. Then suddenly the earth was shaking as all around him fire and explosions reigned. Smoke began to rise, deteriorating their vision. Lancelot turned to Elätha, or at least where he thought the man was.

“They’re trying to blind the archers,” he called to the Clan leader, pausing to cough aggressively against the smoke. “You need to _clear it!”_

Swallowing-hard, Elätha gazed over to the crowd of archers still fighting. He had no magic! This wasn’t something a man without magic could clear. Catching one of their eyes, he didn’t hesitate.

“Clear the smoke! We’ll keep shooting!”

The men instantly began muttering spells; one of the Elders raised a palm. Within a second the smoke cleared allowing them to see all that was before them. Oncoming onslaughts were unfortunately included. The ground vibrated once again, pelted with missiles and artillery. Ducking, Lance covered his ears with his hands, glancing around cautiously. They were being demolished, _literally._ He turned to Elätha. He didn’t have time to yell, only act. He pushed the man down onto the ground. Seconds later, fire and destruction absorbed the spot Elätha had been standing on. Catching his breath, the clan leader gaped at the tower of fire in his place.

“Thank you Lancelot.” He said, instantly reaching back for his bow and arrow.

One arrow fired by an archer nearby, consumed in flames, plunged into one of the helicopters. It was violent enough to devour the whole machine. The helicopter fell down onto the plain, exploding pugnaciously on the ground and sending a few people sprawling outwards from the blast. A few archers cheered at the victory, regaining their spirit and firing more avidly. It could be done! Lancelot sent Elätha a look of caution as they both noticed another vessel approaching their defences.

“We can bring it down.” Elätha assured, hauling an arrow towards it.

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.” Lancelot said with a slight smile, studying the trees carefully. Confused, Elätha continued firing, eyes never leaving the battle. Getting onto his feet, Lance drew forward a vine hanging from a tree and stood beside the Clan leader. “We need to lure it closer.”

“Why?” Elätha asked dismally gesturing over to a spot to their left where evidence of a collision left scars on the ground, blood and horrendous death. The helicopter flew closer to the edge of the land naturally, opening fire on many archers who thought they were succeeding in bringing it down.

“Those Helicopters are _piled_ with guns and weapons.” He explained, reaching for an arrow and aiming at it. “We could do with a little help, keep shooting, I’ve got this.”

Then Lancelot did something Elätha wasn’t sure could be called stupid or brave, in fact the only word he could think was noble _._ He leapt off the land with the momentum the vine gave him. All of a sudden, he was clinging onto the metal railings at the bottom of the helicopter. He had jumped onto the enemy aircraft! He was _dangling_ in mid-air.

Elätha watched in horror. The men in the helicopter registered the change in weight. One opened the door. It gave Elätha a perfect chance. Without hesitation he aimed with precision. Hoisting himself up into the Helicopter, Lance dived into combat with one of the men on board. Elätha watched helplessly, firing arrows at the window in hope of distracting them. Lancelot was strong, that was for sure. He fought valiantly and swiftly, never adding any unnecessary flourishes to his actions. All that remained was the man driving the Helicopter. It was only then Lancelot realised his crucial mistake.

The driver steered away from the edge of the archers, and over the plain. At first the Helicopter swerved violently. Lance stumbled forwards. Desperately, he clung tightly to the sides of the aircraft, knowing that the door was open. If at the wrong angle – he would fall. Elätha got to his feet, reaching for an arrow. He gritted his teeth as he reached behind to his pouch. He was out of arrows. With one swift movement, he reached for the arrows that one of the deceased had left. But by then he was too late. It was unclear where Lancelot was in the mesh of black dominating the sky.

However, it _was_ clear that Uther’s men had lost interest in the archers decoy manoeuvre and were now focusing on the ground battalion, exactly what the archers were trying to _prevent!_ Rushing forwards, taking his sword from his belt, Elätha shouted towards the remaining archers.

“Summon your Wyverns if you are riders - take to the skies! Or take to the ground, we must help our brothers quickly, they’ve foiled our plan!”

With that Elätha descended down into the forest; the others followed behind him. There was no time to waste. The ground battalion needed more men, and fast.

**♦☼♦**

When Uther’s men breached Gwaine and the first line of defence, Laísrean and Rægan promptly ran forwards into battle with the second line. The cries of ‘For Albion’ almost overpowered the sound of the machinery ahead. The shouting quickly dwindled as the soldiers ahead opened fire, knocking down men mercilessly. Now the plain was so mingled it was difficult to see who was friend and who was foe amongst the vast action and annihilation. Magic was rife on the plain. Every second bright flashes of vivid light spurted from different spots. Some spells were more for show than others, creating extravagant patterns in the sky. The Elders were conjuring deep and dark spells, crumbling anyone who dared stand in the way of them.

While that was fine, _great_ even, Gwaine couldn’t help but feel like the missing link. For he didn’t have magic, and he had no way of defending himself other than with a sword. It was adequate, but against _guns –_ it was futile. Nonetheless, to his relief, it seemed to be doing the trick. He mentally thanked Arthur for all those times he’d dragged Gwaine to the gym against his will, because his stealth and speed really _was_ important right now. He spun around, sword slashing against skin. He sprinted through the mass army of darkness, knocking down those he could and narrowly avoiding the brunt of those he couldn’t beat.

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving him down forcefully. He rolled out of harm’s way frantically, leaping back onto his feet before they could make their assault. His opponent seemed hesitate and that was more than enough for Gwaine to work with. Grinning, he lunged for the gun.

“I can tell you’re from Camelot alright,” He remarked, whacking the gun against the man’s shoulder, pushing him to the ground. “You’re too reserved for this kind of thing.” Resorting to knocking the man out, Gwaine gazed down.

It worried him. Some of the men here weren’t trained; they clearly weren’t comfortable with weapons. Yet they were fighting…against their will perhaps. Noticing the shadow looming behind him, Gwaine spun around and met the man’s eyes. He only had a second between plunging his sword into one man to defend himself from another. Spinning around dexterously he quickly hoisted the gun from the corpse’s side. He didn’t hesitate opening fire. These people had _killed_ thousands of Druids already; they had destroyed Ealdor. They would not rest until Albion was ashes.

Sword in his good hand, gun slung over his shoulder, Gwaine continued forwards. As he did the Camelot barrier melted into disorder, the Druids behind trailed after him. He didn’t spare a glance back to the men; afraid of what he might see. Unexpectedly, his feet met no ground. He gazed down in shock. _Shit._ Merlin had warned them all about the special traps of Breguoin – it’s secret crevasses. He reached out for the edge of the earth, gripping tightly to it. A pair of arms hoisted him back onto the land cogently. He met those familiar brown eyes, laughing a little. It was the Druid from Ghedent, a man he’d gotten on well with the past few weeks.

“Hogań! About _time.”_ He retorted to the man beside him, patting him on the shoulder.

“A thank you would have been nice.” The man said with an eye-roll whilst disarming an enemy too close for his liking with magic.

“Well this isn’t _nice,_ we’re in the middle of a war. We can be nice as much as you want later when this is over.” 

Groaning, Hogań felt his lips betray him. He’d learnt pretty quickly that Gwaine’s sense of humour had no bounds, sometimes totally flirtatious in nature. Still he held his own.

“Remind me _why_ I saved you.”

“Sweetheart,” Gwaine teased light-heartedly. “Don’t be like that.”

As Gwaine got back onto his feet, he realised something. They were surrounded. Swallowing-hard, Gwaine clutched the gun in his hands. One glance behind him revealed the extent of their predicament; the crevasse was jumpable, but you would need a bit of a runway first. They definitely didn’t have enough space for that.

“So we’re a bit stuck.” He deduced, eyeing the group of men who had started to saunter towards them.

“Yeah, _just a little bit.”_ The youthful Druid beside him sardonically said.

Glancing over his shoulder, Hogań frowned. His frown grew as the men grew closer, hands moving to their weapons.

“Think we can make it?” he asked, vaguely pointing behind him with feigned optimism.

“No.” Gwaine admitted. Nudging the Druid, he winked. “But it’s worth a shot wouldn’t you say?”

**♦☼♦**

The tunnel bled out into a large ancient chamber, which had a network of tunnels protruding from it. Due to the obscurity caused by lack of light, it was hard to tell _just_ how big the chamber was. Morgana titled the flame torch towards a peculiar crease in the wall that appeared to continue around the whole circumference. Instantly, a ring of fire surrounded the chamber, illuminating its secrets. The area was vast, allowing enough room for hundreds of people to sit comfortably without having to huddle. Stepping aside, Gwen gently nudged Calhoun forwards who them encouraged the other children to enter the room. Laughter erupted from some of the children who sat down to rest their feet. It felt safe, peaceful. Alongside Morgana and Gwen, many young women and men had offered to help protect the vulnerable. Keita was one of them.

“We’ll be safe here.” She said with a smile, holding a hand to the amber pendant on her neck. “My magic can feel it.”

There seemed to be mutual agreement amongst everybody. Taking a step forwards Gwen turned to the large group of volunteers.

“As you can see, there are seven tunnels that lead to this chamber. We need to ensure the children don’t wander off into the tunnels. At least one person should watch each tunnel entrance at all times, and a scout can monitor the tunnel exit. But don’t wander too far, we don’t know if every tunnel is safe.” She explained. Instantly the volunteers took their positions, the extra people spilled out into the chamber to check on the children and Elderly. 

Turning to Morgana, Gwen gestured towards the tunnel they had come from. Understanding and willing to comply, Morgana’s eyes flashed gold. This was something she _could_ do. An arrow inscribed itself into the stone in front of the tunnel, ensuring they would not lose their bearings. Conversation broke out in the chamber, and seconds later, it was almost as if they were back in Iaonem again. All aside from the occasional strident booms that resounded into the tunnels. Gwen frowned, pressing a hand to her temple in concern. Her friends were out there now, fighting for survival.

“All we can do is protect the People here.” Morgana said soothingly, recognising her worry. Pressing a hand to Gwen’s shoulder, she smiled sincerely. “These people _need_ us, they need you.”

Nodding in response, Gwen smiled sadly.

“I just…I hope they’re okay.”

“Me too Gwen, me too.”

**♦☼♦**

Young, audacious, Raegan had heard Arthur Pendragon speak of the strange mechanical beasts called aircraft the men from the other world travelled in back at Iaonem many days ago. He had also heard that they had a magic of their own, only it wasn’t magic at all and it certainly wasn’t used for good. Their ‘magic’ came in the form of condensed compounds and elements of the earth, the universe, all mounded together into more strange mechanisms. These were far stronger than any sword, any bow of sacred arrow. It was a dark and powerful force that they wielded with recklessness and greed.

He only had to wait an hour or so, standing on the edge of the defence line in Breguoin before he truly could understand the strength and colossal damage these weapons were capable of. Elätha’s archers had given the signal, firing down arrows onto the army below. Without hesitation the Druids ran forwards. Raegan, the young heir of the Balegkor Clan, bolted towards the enemy, axe in hand. He’d never liked swords much. They were dainty, yes. But they never could quite do the work an axe could. An axe could fell a rotten tree in seconds and save it from slow decay, a sword could not! Nonetheless, Ragean had never actually fought in warfare before. Albion had been from war for centuries.

Yet as he swung his axe forcefully, he found his assumptions had been correct. The gun was knocked from his opponent’s hands before it could fire. To his left another enemy approached. They fired. Swiftly, Raegan spun around. His eyes flashed gold, throwing a handful of men beside him to the ground. His axe deflected the bullet as it clanked against it. It ricocheted against the thick, heavy metal. It hit the man who had made the shot, tossing his inanimate body to the ground brutally. Without hesitation, he strode forwards, effortlessly cleaving through anyone who dared enter his pathway. He fought ferociously for Albion, for _Keita,_ for his mother. Now, with his Axe in hand, he felt more of a man than a young boy of merely fifteen.

That feeling lasted less than a second as a tall, brute man lunged towards him opening fire. Caught off-guard by the action, Raegan’s eyes widened. His heart was racing, the bullets surely headed straight for him. He didn’t even have time to use his Axe as a shield. He clamped his eyes shut, awaiting the hit. But none came. Opening his eyes, he gaped at the sight. The attacker was on the ground. Standing above them was a feisty young woman. She grinned over her shoulder at him. Raegan rolled his eyes, oh _yes._ He’d heard all about Zelina. She stalked towards him, knocking a few opponents out the way absently with her harnessed, skilful magic. Reaching him, she raised her eyebrows.

“I just saved your life Raegan.” She admitted proudly, clearly pleased with herself. Then it all descended into chaos. “Now you have two options on how to thank me. One, kiss me or two…” she paused for a moment, holding a finger to her chin comically. Having decided upon the second option, she shrugged. “Kiss me-”

“-I’m sorry,” he said, blushing. He leapt backwards in alarm. He knocked a man behind him to the ground as he did so, amusing the girl beside him. “My heart belongs to another.”

“I should have known.” She groaned tetchily, pushing past him to fight the men who were approaching them. And unsure exactly why, Raegan followed her, swinging his axe and conjuring spells whilst she exerted by magical and physical force upon their enemies. The three men that had surrounded them now lay in a heap on the floor.

Gazing down, she frowned. “It’s a shame you know,” Raegan ducked out the way of a bullet, too high on adrenaline to question her words. She explained anyway.

“We make _quite_ a pair.”

He didn’t answer, staring at the strange girl before him with vast bewilderment he could not conceal. But there was no time to stand still. Abruptly the pair plunged back into motion. They fought back to back gallantly, making their way towards Gilli of Saerion who had found himself in a little predicament. Finishing off their final opponent, the pair surged forwards and struck down the enemy brutally. Gilli gazed up at the pair. Smiling, Zelina outstretched her hand, hoisting him to his feet.

“ _I_ just saved your life,” she ignored Raegan’s protests from behind, somehow _still_ managing to fight oncoming threats whilst flirting. “You have two options on how to thank me. One, kiss me. Two…” Rolling his eyes Raegan flung his axe around in the air, knocking down a string of people in a single thwack. He didn’t have to turn around to know what she was about to say.

“…Kiss _him.”_

Or so he _thought._

**♦☼♦**

“You’re in trouble now!” the man steering the helicopter sneered, reaching for the gun in his pocket.

The aircraft jolted in the air as he used one hand to navigate, the other shooting over his shoulder aimlessly at his intruder. Barely missing the random shots firing his way, Lancelot kept his focus. Determinedly, he attached guns around his belt, slinging one over his shoulder. A few grenades slipped into his pockets. These weapons would help the land battalion greatly. The helicopter lurched again. The motion sent him sprawling forwards, this time with nowhere to land. He rolled off the edge of the floor, hands clutching desperately onto the metallic rails.

“Now I’ve got you!” the pilot shrieked in delight, steering the helicopter in dramatic, jagged lines.

Lance swayed against the actions, feeling his hands betray him and start to slip. He spared a glance down. He wished he didn’t. It was a _long_ way down. There was no surviving that, and with his teleporting device gone – there was no escape. Hastily he attempted to hoist himself back up onto the helicopter again. He had just enough time to do it before a shower of bullets from the pilot scraped past his fingers. Impulsively, he moved his hands, sliding clumsily back down onto the railings with a thud. Then he saluted to the pilot through the glass, releasing himself from the helicopter. Within a few moments, the helicopter exploded in the air.

That didn’t alter the fact that Lancelot was falling.

**♦☼♦**

“My name’s Olivae, I’m from Saerion.” The brown-haired girl, no older than five, proudly announced to a young, fresh-faced woman sitting alone in the chamber. The woman smiled up at the girl, as she sat beside her. “Where are you from?”

Sighing, the woman answered the question as swiftly as possible.

“Ealdor.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she moved closer to the woman.

“The place they…” leaning closer animatedly, Olivae’s voice became a whisper. “ _destroyed_?” as the innocent voice flew through her ears; the woman blinked back tears at the horrible memories. Many of her friends had been lost that day, and many more would be lost today. Unable to respond, she turned her head from the little girl.

“Let’s not talk about that now little one,” another voice said gently, crouching beside the other woman. Eisha felt a swell of relief wash over her at the sight of Abellana. She was a maternal figure for her, one of the few from the Ealdor clan not still shaken by grief.

“How long are we staying down here?” Olivae asked Abellana shyly, becoming a sleepy and nuzzling into the side of the woman. Caressing the young girl’s cheek, Abellana smiled softly.

Behind them, a scene far from peace was unfolding. Two of the volunteers emerged from the tunnels, panting and clearly a bit shaken. Morgana noticed the flare of panic in Keita’s eyes the moment she entered from the fifth tunnel. A few heads turned, and Morgana realised she’d reacted far too fast for a normal report. Diverting her vision to those who seemed interested, she offered a reassuring smile, hoping it would detract focus from them. Seconds later, her smile faded as she studied the two figures before her. One of the volunteers abruptly burst into stifled tears on Gwen’s shoulders, pointing down into the tunnel.

Abellana studied the serious conversation between Morgana, Gwen and the volunteers, sensing only trouble from their inability to hide the renewed emotions on their faces.

“As long as we’re here,” she whispered to the child, turning her head from them. She cast Eisha a look of anxiety when the young woman glanced over with fear in her eyes.

Then, Abellana did the only thing she could do to console the child; she lied.

“We’re safe.”

**♦☼♦**

Clinging to Aithusa’s scales, Arthur gritted his teeth. He knew what to do. The Dragon surged higher, and Arthur took his chance. With Excalibur in hand, he slashed the propeller of the aircraft, detaching it from the machine. The propeller fell lethally down to the plain as the helicopter began to spiral down at a disturbing velocity. Arthur just hoped the Druids on the ground were also mindful of things falling from the sky, because nobody was going to survive a collision with that. Narrowing his eyes he gazed across the sky. Will and Topia were flying together, their Wyverns alone not enough to defeat the aircraft.

Then Arthur finally spotted what he’d been looking for. Settling over Mt Breguoin, was a vast black ship. It was at least seven times the size of Aithusa, carrying no doubt a large amount of people. He was certain his father was one of them. The ship also had great power, causing havoc on the ground with missiles and shooting fervently into the sky in hope to catch the Dragons. Aithusa instinctively breathed fire as an unexpected attacker ambushed them from their right. Arthur lost his grip on her scales at the abrupt shift in altitude, feeling himself slip. He tried to adjust himself back onto the saddle. He failed.

_Arthur!_ Aithusa roared titling her back a little to try and maintain him. _Hold on._

With grit determination, he hauled himself back onto the saddle, eyes flashing silver as someone tried to shoot at them from their helicopter. Suddenly, the gun fell from the man’s hands, leaving him defenceless. The White Dragon gnawed at the tail of the helicopter, biting it off and leaving it unbalanced. The tail flew dramatically into another helicopter, close to hitting Kilgarrah and Merlin.

“To Arthur, Kilgarrah!” Merlin shrieked over the booming, thunderous noise sounding from the plain.

Meeting Aithusa and Arthur, the pair continued to fly, knowing that remaining put would cause risk of being injured. Turning to Arthur, the wind tousling his hair, Merlin spoke through his mind urgently.

_We have to take that big ship down!_

Glancing downwards, Arthur gritted his teeth. Aithusa spun quickly out of the way of an oncoming assault.

_My father’s down there, I know it._

Merlin understood the implications, what Arthur was asking him _not_ to do. Regardless of what he’d done, he was still his father. And it was clear Arthur wanted to confront him, _needed_ this final meeting between them.

_We’ll cut the wings; they’re almost over Mt. Breguoin now._ Merlin saw Arthur flinch at the thought of bringing down the ship. Grimacing he sighed.

_Arthur. We have no choice, more people will die if we don’t-_

_-Enough. You’re right. Let’s go. Let’s just…do it right now._ Arthur snapped back tetchily, ordering Aithusa to dive down towards the large ship before Merlin could respond. Kilgarrah was unmatched in speed, swooping past Aithusa and downwards towards the ship. Arthur ground his teeth together in apprehension. He was unsure where the sudden streak of compassion came from for his father. It crinkled the corners of his vision slightly, dizzying him. He should feel nothing but _joy_ putting an end to his father’s tyranny. He didn’t. Both Dragons didn’t hesitate as they approached the large ship. Aithusa targeted one wing, Kilgarrah the other. In seconds the ship began to fall, hurtling into Mt Breguoin. Eyes wide, Arthur watched the ship’s cataclysmic crash.

He then realised it was getting further away.

**♦☼♦**

Uther clenched his fists as he gazed around the plain. The Druids were far stronger than they appeared. But this wasn’t the problem, their sheer volume of _numbers_ were the problem. Camelot had the resources, but it was severely outnumbered. His eyes caught sight of a silvery mythological creature flying through the air. A _Dragon._ The person riding this magical creature was his son. _Arthur._ As the Dragon coiled around them on one side, he looked over to the other to see _another_ Dragon. It was Merlin, _Emrys._ Then it became clear what exactly the Dragons were doing. They were trying to crash the ship. Pure rage seethed through him. His own flesh and blood, betraying everything he had strived for, _destroying_ the essence of Camelot.

Immediately a warning signal flared up. The pilots began to open fire outside as the ship jerked unnaturally side to side.

“NO.” He roared slamming a fist angrily down upon the window. The action startled the pilots and gunmen on-board. “I want them both alive, and brought to _me_.”

What happened next caught them all off-guard. The wings of the aircraft crumbled down the mountainside, and suddenly they were plummeting downwards.

**♦☼♦**

_Go back! Go back now!_ Arthur hissed at Aithusa viciously, watching as the large ship split down the middle. One half of the ship began to tumble down the mountain; the other wavered perilously close to doing the same of the other side. Arthur’s eyes scanned the wreckage. He saw the man he was looking for, seemingly unscathed and gun in hand. By the looks of it, he had ejected himself from the plane long before it was going to crash. He faded into the distance as Aithusa rose back into the air.

_No, where are you going? I need to fight him! Aithusa!_

Aithusa growled as he dejectedly slammed a fist down absently onto her back.

_You can’t fight him Arthur, you won’t be able to bring yourself to._

_You’re wrong._ He spat rather convincingly. _He has caused so much suffering; let me put an end to it._

_Your heart is too pure to be tainted by such darkness._

Frustrated by her words, Arthur glared into the sky.

_Aithusa-!_

-Ignoring his calls, she continued to attack the helicopters in the air ferociously. Clutching Excalibur tightly, Arthur probed the area. What he saw stunned him. Someone was falling from a helicopter, falling drastically fast and form this height there was no _way_ they’d survive. The people on the plain were too small to separate, like ants on the ground. Even Mt Breguoin was small from up here. It took Arthur a second to acknowledge who this person was.

“Lancelot!” he yelled, steering Aithusa frantically downwards to try and catch the man.

**♦☼♦**

Eyes wide, Gwen gazed down into the dark abyss, where Keita was pointing. Whatever it was, it did not bode well for them. She exchanged frantic glances with Morgana. The raven-haired woman’s façade cracked. Inhaling a ragged breath, Keita spewed words from her mouth. It was words that nobody wanted to hear, _horrible,_ terrifying words.

“We…heard _voices_.”

At the words Gwen felt her body stiffen, shoulders hunch together. Morgana’s countenance became severe. _Voices._ But that was _impossible._ It wasn’t impossible that was the scary thing. In fact, it was possible. Heart racing, Gwen gazed fearfully over to Gŭaire. Part of her _wished_ he would tell her this wasn’t true, that Keita was feverish and needed rest. With a solemn frown, the young man nodded, confirming her words. Raising her head bravely, Gwen tried to steady her uneven breaths.

“That’s not all,” Gŭaire said in a low voice, fully aware that the People simply could not be allowed to hear this exchange. “Leahme is missing. He was patrolling the fifth tunnel. Doane was going to swap with him, but he never returned.”

Gwen could feel her hands trembling against Keita’s shoulders, hardly comfortingly the woman anymore. She gazed over to Morgana, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Leahme. She didn’t even know who this boy _was._ Yet he was missing and potentially in danger. Taking a step forwards, Morgana bravely pulled on a mask of calmness.

“Thank you Gŭaire. We need to set up provisional defence on the fifth and sixth tunnel entrance. Meanwhile, nobody is to patrol the tunnels, call everyone back. We don’t want to draw attention to where we are or cause any casualties.” Nodding in agreement Gwen regained her composure. She had a duty to the children, to the people here. She had to stay _strong_ for them.

“These tunnels can carry every minute sound. Tell the children it’s time for them to sleep, and the others must talk very quietly.” She added wisely.

“What reason do we give them for keeping quiet?” Morgana asked, a little distressed. “If we tell them the _truth_ , we create mass panic.”

The word _truth_ flustered Gwen, as if Morgana had already jumped to conclusions with the evidence given.

“Perhaps as an act of respect?” Gŭaire supplied. The confused looks on the faces around suggested he needed to elaborate. “To those who have already fallen in the great battle, we must pay our respects.”

“You and the others spread the word around to the People.” Morgana replied with a soft smile, though there was a dangerous flicker in her eyes that only Gwen caught sight of.

“And what of young Leahme? They’ll start to notice he’s missing.” Gwen asked Morgana when the volunteers had established their new positions, so nobody could overhear them.

“I’ll have a look.” The woman made her way to the fifth tunnel entrance. Instinctively, Gwen followed.

“ _No_ Morgana!” she snapped, afraid her emotions would cloud her judgement of how loud to speak. “It’s too dangerous. We all have to stay here.”

“If anyone’s there, I’ll see them before they see me.” Morgana almost boasted with a false grin. Her attempt at persuading Gwen failed miserably.

“We _both_ know that’s not always true.” At these words, these honest words, Morgana’s grin slipped from her lips. She leant closer to Gwen, eyes wide and earnest.

“ _Trust me Gwen._ If they have come here, then we’ll need to be prepared. _”_

Reluctantly, Gwen gazed over to the People who were now settling quietly, many of the children already asleep. The volunteers were now on every tunnel entrance, surrounding the chamber protectively. By the time she turned her head back to Morgana to respond, there was nobody there.

Morgana was gone.

**♦☼♦**

Hearing Aithusa and Arthur’s exchange, Merlin frowned. Of course, both had valid arguments, but Aithusa was correct. Arthur, the Once and Future, he did not _deserve_ to face his own father in warfare. It was a dark fate wished upon not even the worst of men. As Kilgarrah crunched a helicopter with his talons, Merlin bit his lip decisively. The next helicopter required his assistance. Summoning his magic, Merlin effortlessly aided his kin in the fight. When it seemed relatively safe in the sky for them, he spoke.

“Lower me down!” Merlin cried to the Dragon, gazing down at Mt Breguoin intently. Kilgarrah said nothing, continuing to fly. The Dragon knew _exactly_ what Merlin had in mind. He could hear those selfless, foolish thoughts running in the man’s head. “Don’t make me _order_ you Dræɡən. I can feel you’re loosing your strength carrying me too.”

The excuse was weak and for a moment Kilgarrah continued to defy him. Instead, the Dragon plunged into warfare with another metallic sky monster. Eyes flashing gold, Merlin felt a wave of power flush over him.

“O Dræɡən,” he roared, voice low and authoritative. “leáfa mi, ic áfége  woruldgefeoht.” Reluctantly, but still unable to refuse, Kilgarrah descended downwards to Mt Breguoin. In one swift motion Merlin leapt off the Dragon’s back, landing firmly on the mountain. The Dragon flew back into the fight, breathing amber flames onto the vessel that grew too close. Merlin watched the Dragon rise into the sky majestically for a moment. Then he swallowed-hard and took a step forwards.

He was going to face Uther Pendragon.

**♦☼♦**

He was falling at an alarming velocity now. There was no question that when if he hit the ground (the sky was full of bullets) it would be a fatal landing. He took this moment to think of Gwen, the woman he loved. Gwaine, the cheeky, mischievous figure who never ceased to misunderstand the right time to make a joke; his field partner Leon. Then his thoughts drifted over to Arthur, one of the best men he knew. Merlin was the other, the bravest of them all, the most loyal and resilient. Would they find him among the masses, he wondered. And as he fell, dwelling on his imminent death, the last thing Lancelot expected was to land on the back of a _Dragon._

Swinging his legs round to ensure he stayed on the Dragon, Lancelot gaped. Arthur glanced over his shoulder at him, almost scornfully.

“What do you think you’re doing, sacrificing yourself like that?” he yelled over the noise. Annoyance was clear in his voice.

“It was necessary,” Lancelot responded, feeling a little queasy as the Dragon swooped radically lower. He’d never enjoyed flying. Concealing the sensation, he continued. It would only be for a few moments longer, Aithusa was dropping him to the ground it seemed. “The bows and arrows are no good against them, we needed _real_ weapons.”

“So you just decided to offer yourself up as an unsung hero?” Arthur sighed. He felt a little disappointed, because Lance was _so much_ more than an unsung hero yet clearly didn’t see it. 

As Aithusa landed, he grabbed Lance by the shoulder imploringly.

“You’re a great man Lance, a true friend, watch yourself out there.”

With that Aithusa spread her wings once more, aware that the men on the ground were taking avid interest in her, particularly with their weapons. Lancelot opened fire, tossing one of the guns to a struggling man beside him. The man caught it in reflex, standing back to back with Lancelot as they pushed through the enemy lines. They briefly met eyes and broke into surprised laughter.

“You did it then.” Elätha remarked, sounding almost relieved.

The pleasant atmosphere instantly faded when their eyes met two figures clearly in distress, completely surrounded by men.

“They need our help, ready?” Elätha nodded in response, readying his bow and the strange machine the man had passed him.

Patting him on the back, Lance broke into a run, tossing a grenade over his shoulder as he did so. The plain behind them became engulfed in smoke.

**♦☼♦**

Morgana wasted no time. She walked frantically down the tunnel, unsure what it would lead to, but certain it would give her answers. Guilt consumed her. Gwen would be unhappy and worried, to say the least that she had gone _alone_ into the tunnels. It was necessary, however. Something was lurking here, and it had to be stopped. She had walked far enough now to leave the tunnel, entering a wider system of Iaonam. Part of her thought she should turn back, the other was determined to find whoever was threatening the People. Abruptly, she came to a halt at a heart-breaking sight. Crouching down beside the young man, she gently pressed his eyelids over the vacant eyes. Leahme was dead. He had been _killed._ Examining the body, she narrowed her eyes in confusion.

There were no bullets, no stab wounds, which led her to one conclusion. Whoever did this had _magic._ Getting to her feet, Morgana clutched her dagger tighter as a figure emerged in front, face concealed by a dark cloak. Fury overpowered her. Whoever this person was, they had _betrayed_ Albion. They were _magic,_ yet they had sided with Uther Pendragon! It was enough to be called treason in her eyes. Gritting her teeth, Morgana slowly walked forwards.

“Reveal yourself.”

The figure obediently lowered their hood. Halting in her tracks, Morgana gaped at the sight before her. It was a woman she had known for _years,_ someone who she had never suspected actually possessed magic. She possessed piecing eyes that could stop anyone in their tracks, a demonic smile that was too sinister to believe and long blonde curls of hair that fell softly on each side of her face. An incredulous laugh escaped Morgana’s lips, because this _couldn’t_ be. She blinked rapidly; in hopes she would discover her eyes were deceiving her. That was not the case.

“Why are you so surprised Morgana?” the woman said, sauntering closer by a few steps. To Morgana’s shame, she took a step backwards and gazed over to Leahme, a painful reminder that this woman _was_ powerful. This lack of resilience didn’t last long, seconds later she surged forwards, dagger in hand.

“You!” she shrieked, coming to a stop a few feet from the woman. “YOU-”

“-Ah.” Morgause taunted holding a hand up calmly, _too_ calm for Morgana’s liking. Instantly, Morgana found herself compliantly listening. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You see…this little situation we’ve found ourselves in...” Reaching into her pocket she smirked. Morgana’s fierce expression dissolved into one of horror as her eyes discovered the object. “…It’s more _complicated_ than you first thought.”

If it were a Druid who had laid eyes on the object, Morgana was sure they wouldn’t have identified it. But Morgana wasn’t a Druid by birth. She had worked in the amo department of _Camelot._ She knew virtually every weapon by name and design. Swallowing-hard, she breathed a dejected sigh. It made sense, why the voices hadn’t come closer. They weren’t _looking_ for the People; they were planting something in the tunnels. Shock pelted her. They were planting explosives. Dark realisation dawned upon her. Anger washed over her, bitter, hot tears streaking from her eyes.

“You would kill the lives of innocent Druids, of _children_!” She spat maliciously. “You would betray _your own kind_!”

“They are not _my kind._ They betrayed _me,_ and they are far from innocent. They left me as good as dead in Camelot. I did what I _could_ to stay alive.” The woman replied with the same vicious tone, studying Morgana with intensity.

Bravely, Morgana stepped closer to her, eyes misted over with determination and grit courage.

“And I’m doing what I can to keep these people alive. I will _not_ allow you to hurt these People.” On cue her eyes flashed gold as a warning. The gesture at first startled Morgause. But then, she _smiled._ All of a sudden Morgana felt a little out of her depth.

“Well, _that_ certainly changes things.”

 

“Merlin once told me the Druids were a peaceful people, that they were kind and accommodating. Yet all I see here are people clouded by their own fear and prejudice. I risked my life for one of you many years ago in Camelot, and I would do so again _without question_.” All eyes were focused on her, some shocked, surprised and others in awe of her ferocity. “Magic or not.” 

“Emrys.” The virulence in his voice was overwhelming, almost threatening to induce a shudder through Merlin’s body. His magic fought it off valiantly. He lifted his head challengingly, staring at Uther Pendragon with an expression that was almost identical.

“Uther.” He replied in a curt voice, afraid if he took his time over this name he would lose control of himself and unleash a tonne of powerful, and exhausting, magic that may possibly kill himself along with Uther Pendragon. 

“How long I have waited to see you again.” Uther’s expression suddenly darkened, amusement fading. “After _all_ that you’ve done-”

Merlin returned the bitter sentiment boldly without thought.

“You _dare_ stand here and insult me!” 

“It is not your destiny to die here. This is not how I’d want things to end between us.” Drawing her eyebrows together in confusion at the woman’s sincerity, Morgana moved away from the dagger.

“Sister-“

Unable to tolerate that word, the raven-haired woman glowered at the blonde.

“-Stop calling me that, I am no sister or friend of yours.” Her eyes lingered on the detonator; she failed to see the flash of hurt in Morgause’s eyes. She thought of Gwen, of the volunteers, of the Elderly and the _children._ God. They would die. They would all die. No longer thinking of her own life, she met Morgause in a pleading gaze, knowing it was foolish. It was all she had left. 

“I beg of you, spare these people. They’ve done _nothing_ to you.” 

“If you move, you’re finished.” Uther warned.

Outstretching his palm calmly, Merlin raised his eyebrows.

“If you shoot then _believe me_ ,” There was a twisted sense of amusement on the Druid’s face.

“ _You’re_ finished.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: 
> 
> O Dræɡən, leáfa mi, ic áfége woruldgefeoht - O Dragon, leave me, take me to the final battle.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the last chapter guys, here's PART II of the big battle! 
> 
> I'll probably upload again soon, but I really need to finish the next few chapters.
> 
> Hope you all like this one, has one of my favourite scenes in it: Merlin & Uther confrontation woo.   
> Enjoy!

 

Once Gwaine and Hogań miraculously made it to the other side, they realised they were once again surrounded, only this time on _both_ sides of the crevasse.

“Jumping over that crevasse was a _really bad idea.”_ Hogań panted, attempting to catch his breath back.

Observing the situation, Gwaine chuckled darkly.

“Probably the worst idea we’ve had yet, and that includes enchanting Arthur’s cape to molest him last week and seeing how many times we could piss off Will.” The words triggered a breathy laugh from his companion.

“That _was_ fun.” Hogań admitted, recalling the memories to himself. He and Gwaine had made acquaintances straight away when the Ghedent Clan settled in Iaonem. “But this, this is _not_ fun.”

“Surely we can make it fun.”

They stood back to back, slowly circulating to observe all their opponents. Biting his lip Hogań pointed the foreign weapon in his heads lethally towards the men. It was clear he had _no idea_ how to wield it. Many were unfazed. One even laughed in response. Gwaine recognised that laugh. His cheeky, blithe resolve shattered instantly. _That voice._ Gritting his teeth, he pushed Hogań behind him to monitor to other side eyes fierce. From the surrounding men, none other than Valiant took a step forward. He wore a vicious expression, representing nothing close to the meaning of valiant. He was cruel, callous; _ruthless._

“Gwaine,” he loaded his gun, continuing to stalk forwards. “How lovely to see you again.”

“The pleasure’s all yours,” Gwaine barked back with an uncharacteristic leer. “ _Trust me.”_

Hogań swallowed-hard, cautiously eyeing the group they had fled from earlier. To his relief, they seemed to yield, realising there were easier fights to pick. Or perhaps it was because the man Gwaine was addressing rather _rudely_ had some kind of power over them. Either way, he wasn’t complaining about only having to watch his front as opposed to also watching his back. Turning around, he stood beside Gwaine who pushed the young man behind him swiftly. Valiant was not to be trifled with. Hogań studied the figure in front of them. His demeanour was intimidating, a nasty look plastered on his face. His eyes were ferocious. Whoever he was, he was bad news.

“Do you really think you can _beat us?”_ the man asked studying Gwaine intently.

Gwaine moved his mouth, but the words that surfaced were not his own. He shot a glower to his side as Hogań shoved past him daringly.

“We will _not rest_ until Albion is free from this injustice. We _will_ defeat you.” The younger man spat darkly.

Raising his eyebrows at the new voice, Valiant smirked. He shared a snigger with the four men behind him, who all found the young Druid’s words highly amusing. Hogań averted his eyes, disliking their rather ominous reaction to his retaliation.

“You sure about that?” the words heavily unsettled Gwaine. That was _enough_ for a warning for him. Protectively, he took a step forwards. A brotherly instinct swept over him. He had no real siblings, but Hogań was barely an adult, having just reached nineteen. He was vulnerable and not afraid to speak his mind. He had no _idea_ who Valiant was, what his black heart was capable of doing. Whilst Gwaine had learnt _how_ to get away with speaking freely, usually by the skin of his teeth, Hogań was still learning. And this was _certainly_ no place to experiment or take risks in such matters.

Without warning or any indication, Valiant fired his gun. Gwaine’s eyes widened in shock. Hogań fell with a gasp.

“NO-”

Gwaine unleashed a vicious cry of anger and upset. He lunged for the young man, hauling him into his arms and thus saving him from another critical shot that barely missed the pair of them. At that moment the sound of gunfire flooded around them. Instead of Gwaine being hit, the men behind Valiant all fell down. Gwaine took this distraction as a chance to lower Hogań softly to the ground, examining the wound grimly. As Valiant turned around he met Lancelot’s fist, and Elätha’s arrow. 

“Hogań!” Gwaine hissed. “ _Come on_ Hogań!!”

Elätha, instantly recognising the name ran over. He crouched beside the wounded figure in apprehension. It was indeed Hogań, one of his best and most loyal fighters in Ghedent. He glanced over at Gwaine solemnly. Biting back a moan, Gwaine clasped his eyes shut for a second. He failed to remain composure. He was _just a boy!_ A fucking boy, who had barely seen the world, barely _lived._ Leaning over the young man, he tossed his gun heatedly down to the ground. Hogań blinked his eyes half-open, gazing hazily over to where he thought Gwaine’s voice was coming from. He was inaccurate. It pierced Gwaine in the heart. A weak smile spread over the boy’s face. Panicked and flustered, Gwaine swallowed-hard.

“We need Leon! _Anyone!”_ he declared, glancing over his shoulder to Lancelot. The bleak expression on his friend’s face revealed what he didn’t want to accept. Slinging an arm around the young man, he shook his head defiantly. _No._ No. They could do this, there was still hope; there had to be! “We have to get him to the infirmary.”

“If we _move him,”_ Elätha pushed the injured man back down onto the ground and winced at the sight of the deep, bloody wound. “He will die for certain.”

“-What can we do for him? There has to be something!” Gunfire behind them revealed that the situation was desolate; dire. They were in the middle of a battle. They could not stay here; they were _all_ vulnerable like this. Soon they would be targeted like prey. Lancelot guarded the three figures, diverting attention away by the supplies he had taken from the helicopter. Despite his efforts, they all knew the ultimate truth. His distraction would not last forever; they would have to engage back into battle, _fast_.

“There is _nothing,”_ The Clan leader whispered with a frown as Hogań spluttered violently. “He’s lost too much blood-”

“-No.”

“- _Gwaine.”_ Lancelot sighed miserably from ahead, his voice full of melancholy and regret. 

Unable to conceal the lump in his throat that thickened his tone and watered his eyes, Gwaine shook his head dismally. Clasping the young man’s hand comfortingly, he bit back the salty tears.

“I’m sorry I failed you, friend.”

Weakly, the injured Hogań spoke. All eyes turned to him desperately; Gwaine inhaled a ragged breath, brushing the dirt from his face affectionately.

“No, _never.”_ Pause, violent cough; Elätha cradled his head. “ _Leave me,_ y-y-you ha…ve to le-.” Silence abruptly plucked the words from his mouth, casting them into the tumultuous sky. His eyes became glassy, vacant. The grip on Gwaine’s hand loosened. Life poured from his face, leaving it pale and immobile.

He was dead.

Elätha pressed Hogań’s eyelids shut, murmuring something in the Druid tongue softly. Wiping his sleeve over his eyes, Gwaine stood up briskly and picked up the weapon he’d tossed to the ground. Gazing over to Lancelot resiliently, blinking away the tears, he nodded. There was a dark resilience in his face.

“Let’s stop these bastards once and for all.”

**♦☼♦**

The voices were growing more prominent, and Morgana _still_ hadn’t returned. Children had woken from their sleep, too afraid to speak in the thick, tense air that hung between each person. It was now clear what was going on. Anxiously, Gwen paced back and forth. They couldn’t stay here. It was too dangerous. If Uther’s men were here, they could be trapped in the chamber and slaughtered like animals. Gwen knew that killing harmless children and defenceless People wasn’t below them. She understood fully what was at stake here. Above all, she had _vowed_ to protect these People; she was not going back on her word. Swallowing-hard, she motioned over to Gŭaire who quickly strode over to her.

“Gŭaire,” Gwen said sternly, eyeing the second tunnel where more voices were sounding. “We need to get everyone out of here _now_.”

“How do we know which tunnel is safe?” Keita asked warily scanning the exits.

Voices had been heard from most of them now. It was more like a game of chance, a twist of fate. For how on _earth_ could they know which tunnel would be safe? A thought crossed Gwen’s mind. It was a reckless thought, one she knew many would disagree on, but it had logic and reason.

“We’ll take the fifth tunnel.” She declared.

Then came the protest.

“That’s where Leahme went missing!” One volunteer proclaimed rather loudly, drawing attention to them.

“Why should we listen to you?” another voice said bitterly.

Out of the voices, Gwen heard one rather cruel jibe:

“You can’t even do _magic!”_

At the words, Gwen felt her barrier crash down, fear and upset consuming her. They were right, of course. She had no power, only the _will_ to do what was right and just. Magic, the word stabbed her in the heart, piercing ruthlessly through her skin. Calhoun pushed through the crowd defiantly, standing protectively in front of Gwen. She didn’t realise tears had fallen down her face until she was dabbing at her cheeks with her shaking hands. Gŭaire took a step in front of her and growled angrily at the author of those vicious words. Immediately the outbreak stopped.

“You’re all foolish and stupid if you don’t trust Gwen.” Gŭaire snapped. “She is one of Emrys’ most loyal friends. You’re behaving this way because you’re scared. We all are. But remember you have _volunteered_ your assistance to protect these people, and yet you are putting them in danger right now. Shouting and arguing won’t do us any good. We’ll simply lure them in.” assured that everybody was now listening, he turned to Gwen with confidence. “As you were saying Gwen.”

Mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the young man, Gwen took a step forwards boldly.

“Merlin once told me the Druids were a peaceful people, that they were kind and accommodating. Yet all I see here are people clouded by their own fear and prejudice. I risked my life for one of you many years ago in Camelot, and I would do so again _without question_.” All eyes were focused on her, some shocked, surprised and others in awe of her ferocity. “Magic or not.” Pause. Stunned by the effect she seemed to have, she quickly continued in fear it would fade. “The fifth tunnel was the first to have harboured voices. But there have been no voices since and voices in many others. The men have moved on to a different tunnel. We cannot accept this as the ultimate truth, but it’s the best chance we have. We will have a line of fighters at the front, a line in the middle and a line at the back to ensure the safety of these People. As Gŭaire said, we have pledged to protect them.”

Taking one of the torches from the wall, Gwen made the first step into the tunnel, sword drawn. For a moment she felt she had found her calling, the Destiny she had been searching for all these years. This had always been her path. She didn’t have to look behind her to know that the People were following her.

**♦☼♦**

The remains of the large aircraft had crumpled messily, a heap on the Mountainside. Small embers burnt from within it, smoke rising. The stench of death and blood was strong. Merlin raised his head towards the sky, watching as Kilgarrah flew up into the air, out of sight. Compared to the rest of Breguoin, the Mountain was quiet. It was almost eerie. The sounds of gunfire and the cries of men were muffled into the background. He took a step forwards, gazing around the mountain cautiously. Uther had to be somewhere. There was no escaping a mountain of this height without certain death. Fists clenched and clammy, Merlin took another slow step forwards, treading carefully across the mountain. He was being watched; he could _feel it._ It unnerved him greatly. A few more agonising seconds passed in silence. He felt the intense gaze upon him. Gritting his teeth, he spun around, eyes desperately searching the mountain. No sign of the man.

“I know you’re here!” he declared boldly, attempting to sound composed when really he was far from it. This was the man who had _destroyed his home;_ this man had killed his father. This man was responsible for Arthur’s suffering and so much more. His crimes were infinite. A swell of anger rumbled through his skin when there was no immediate movement. It was uncontrollable, blazing and consuming. Eyes flashing gold, Merlin _growled_ inhumanely, voice half-human and half something that barely resembled _anything_ he’d ever heard before. Formidable was the only was to describe it.

“Face me.”

Silence.

Then there was rustling. Merlin’s fierce eyes darted towards the wreckage. A figure gradually emerged from behind it. They took predatory steps towards Merlin. The anger inside Merlin expanded and grew until it could no longer fit and start pouring out over his body. It was corrosive, _searing_ against him. It didn’t cease. The figure walked closer, and closer. Merlin hitched a breath. Something close to nervousness swept over his anger and took hold of his shaking body. His bravado of strength and rage vanished. The figure continued to walk forwards, fearless and brazen. They met in the middle of the mountain, barely a few feet from each other. Merlin met the man’s eyes darkly. Minor splodges of dirt and soil were dusted on his face, a trickle of dried blood on his right cheek; his clothes were torn at some of the creases. But aside from that, Uther had escaped the aircraft unscathed.

There was an unbearable, tense silence that hung between the pair of them. Their eyes remained locked on each other, neither daring to break it. A malicious smirk slipped over Uther’s lips.

“Emrys.” The virulence in his voice was overwhelming, almost threatening to induce a shudder through Merlin’s body. His magic fought it off intrepidly. He lifted his head challengingly, staring at Uther Pendragon with an expression that was almost identical.

“Uther.” He replied in a curt voice, afraid if he took his time over this name he would lose control of himself and unleash a tonne of powerful, and exhausting, magic that may possibly kill himself along with Uther Pendragon. He barely managed to suppress the burning sensation beneath his skin. The man in front of him seemed unfazed by the Druid’s reaction. In fact, he seemed almost _satisfied_ to have evoked such a potent response with merely one word and a smirk. He stalked forwards. Merlin held his ground, the ground trembling slightly beneath his feet – or was it the way around- he wasn’t sure anymore. Everything had merged into one mesh of senses, he could feel everything all at once, and it was anarchy. 

“How long I have waited to see you again.” Uther’s expression suddenly darkened, amusement fading. “After _all_ that you’ve done-”

Merlin returned the bitter sentiment boldly without thought.

“You _dare_ stand here and insult me!” a chaotic spluttered laugh escaped his lips at the very notion. It wasn’t a nice, pleasant laugh; it was a horrific one. The sound took Uther by surprise. Lowering his voice, Merlin leant forwards intently. “With _your_ lies and hatred for magic, you pushed away everyone who ever cared about you.” Pause. “Gaius, Arthur, Igraine-”

Uther adjusted the gun on his shoulder abruptly. He grabbed Merlin by the tattered brown jacket, hauling him alarmingly close. Their eyes met malevolently, and Merlin inhaled a ragged breath to try and restrain himself from lashing out and ending everything right now. The air coiling around them was thick and volatile.

“- _Don’t_ speak her name, Druid.” Violently he shoved the Druid away. Merlin stumbled a little as he was propelled backwards. For a moment he allowed himself to play the weaker man, feigning lack of balance. He regained his footing confidently, a broad and sadistic smile on his face. He’d hit a nerve with Igraine _that_ was evident. He’d seen the flash of pain in Uther’s eyes and by _god_ for all he’d done, he wanted to see it again.

“But that’s not where your crimes end.” Merlin stated, his smile morphing into something more sinister. “It is just the beginning. For _you_ have caused _so much_ suffering among my people.” It took all his strength to withhold the choked sob at the back of his throat, the excruciating tug of his magic begging him not to bring those unhealed wounds to the surface again. He ignored it all, burying it deeper within him.

“You _killed_ my father, destroyed the Crystal Cave. You send your _oldest friend_ to the lab. Thousands of Druids have died by your hand and-”

“-many more will today.” Uther replied, gesturing down to the battlefield below. Sparing a glance down to the destruction, then up to the cataclysmic sight of the sky, Merlin grimaced. The few seconds he had done these two things had given Uther another chance to stalk forwards ravenously. “For I will _not rest_ until I have purged the whole of Albion of your wicked kind.” His eyes narrowed, an intense glare on his face. “You took my son from me! With magic.”

The accusation would have amused Merlin, if he were not standing face to face with the murderous tyrant. He glowered back with a similar ferocity.

“I was not the one to turn Arthur against you; it was _your_ doing alone.” He studied the manner in which Uther’s eyes failed to conceal their emotions. The one he’d been searching for finally appeared, and Merlin didn’t hesitate to speak the honest words in his racing heart. “He is a much better man than you could _ever_ hope to be.”

“He has betrayed Camelot, destroyed the empire he was to inherit-”

“- _Arthur,”_ Merlin was amazed at how much power the name held over Uther Pendragon, despite everything. The man instantly became silenced, gazing over at Merlin cautiously as if he wielded a precarious weapon. “Has destroyed the evil that was at the heart of Camelot. He has freed my people from you. He will lead Albion into a new age, because it is his destiny to do so.”

At these words, Uther laughed, the sound cold and harsh to Merlin’s ears. It made him wince slightly, determination grinding to a halt. The laughter grew into something ominous. Uther shook his head, as if to condone Merlin’s words as foolish and naïve. He took a step forwards; almost in the manner a _normal_ father would to console their confused child. Merlin disliked it very much, and took a step backwards to keep the distance. He discovered he was definitely right to do so, for seconds later the normalcy and kindness evapourated, leaving only bitterness and a brutal stare.

“Don’t speak of destiny to me. It was his _duty_ to follow in my footsteps-”

“-You’re wrong.” Merlin breathed more to himself than to the man, a small smile tugging at his lips. Uther continued to talk over him.

“-and cleanse the world from magic, to allow the world economy to continue-”

Merlin’s admission became a loud announcement, his eyes burnishing with fortitude.

“You’re wrong! _So wrong,”_ he narrowed his eyes almost mockingly, tilting his head coyly. He didn’t flinch as Uther jolted forwards. “About _so much._ Arthur’s destiny was never to follow in your footsteps. He has made his own path.” Uther scoffed at the words, removing himself from the Druid’s personal space as if disgusted by being so close to such a being. He turned his back to Merlin, walking further away. Merlin raised his voice, allowing it to carry across to the man. “I believe in him and the world that we will build together. He is _far_ more than the son of Uther Pendragon,” a proud smile lit up his face. “He is the Once and Future.”

At these words, Uther spun around. His eyes wide, _panicked._

“You’re lying!” he roared, almost fearfully.

Drawing his eyebrows together in confusion, Merlin watched as Uther became motionless. The man was startled and worried by the term. His actions were less and less stable, his expression less guarded. He didn’t even realise he was pacing until he heard the grunt of comprehension from the Druid. Raising his eyebrows in realisation, Merlin grinned. _Oh._ This was interesting, very interesting indeed. Drinking in Uther’s dismal frown, Merlin’s rather sinister grin widened.

“You’ve heard those words before-”

“-If you care for your life,” Uther backfired viciously, reaching for the gun hoisted over his shoulder. “I suggest you _stop talking_ boy-”

But Merlin couldn’t stop, a stream of words streaming from his mouth, drenched in truth, soaked in his own disbelief and dark humour. He knew he was playing a dangerous game when a burst of laughter fell out his mouth. But really, he couldn’t help it because this really had turned everything on its head spectacularly.

“-You’ve known about this _for years_ haven’t you? And yet, you _still_ tried to defy the greatest forces of this earth. You tried to dissolve the golden prophecy.”

Lunging forwards menacingly, Uther poised the gun towards Merlin who remained still and steady.

“ _Don’t_ test me! I will shoot you.”

Now, Merlin was never the kind to show off or exploit his status as Emrys. In fact, he usually shied away from it, embarrassed by the praise and recognition. Now however, was a totally different circumstance. Standing before him was Uther Pendragon, the man who had condemned his _people_ and threatened the future of this land. Sneering, Merlin outstretched his palm in front of him warningly. 

“Your weapons don’t scare me.” He spat, voice deep and foreboding. “I am _Emrys,_ it would take me less than a few seconds to kill you with a flick of my hand.”

Uther’s next words intimidated him more than he would have ever liked to admit.

“And yet, you haven’t.” There it was, the silent challenge. _Kill me then. Come on, mighty Emrys, fucking kill me!_

His magic was more than willing to comply, it took a great deal of restraint to control it and push it to the back of his mind. It hissed furiously as he clamped his eyes shut, groaning a little. _No._ He screamed to himself. This wasn’t the way _he_ did things. This wasn’t the Druid way, killing out of cold blood. His father certainly would have never rose to the bait. He opened his eyes suddenly. The gold trickled out of his irises in submission. Averting his gaze from Uther, he swallowed-hard. The implications of what he’d just done – or rather _not done –_ were heavy. A brutal, delighted laughed echoed through Mount Breguoin.

“Oh.” Bowing his head at the scorn, Merlin sighed drearily. “ _Oh!_ After _everything_ I’ve done to you and your people, you don’t have the _guts_ to kill me!” another laugh, Merlin ground his teeth together, his palms clenched tightly at the words. Uther’s tone became disdainful and derisive, not failing to do injury. “The _mighty_ Emrys…” Merlin’s whole body was shaking, his clenched hands sharply opened. “…Unable to take a life-”

“-You’d be surprised.”

Suddenly his eyes flashed gold, directing a beam of light towards Uther Pendragon. The man dived out the way. Merlin was relentless. He cast again before the man even had time to respond. Uther was sent sprawling back at the collision. Then a gunshot fired through the mountain. Merlin deflected it with ease. He shot another spell at the man. His trembling hands missed feebly. He inhaled a deep breath. _Breathe Merlin, breathe._ Uther got back onto his feet. He fired another shot. Merlin’s golden eyes protected him once more.

“Impressive, you know I often wondered how magic of your calibre would benefit Camelot.”

“Wondering is as far as you’ll ever get!” Merlin hissed vehemently, narrowing his eyes.

“Perhaps.”

Then there was silence between them. The pair began to circle each other. Neither made a move to attack or defend. They were spiralling recklessly into a deadly stalemate with no indication of how long it would last or who would make the first shot. Uther then did something unexpected. He tossed the gun in his hands to the ground, out of range. Merlin gazed over to the weapon in shock, attempting not to allow his stern composure to falter by the strange action. He failed, and Uther laughed. A little dumbfounded, Merlin held both palms in front of him.

“Come on then _Emrys,”_ Uther whispered. “I’m waiting.”

**♦☼♦**

“Sister, I fear much has been kept from you, far much more than you think _.”_

Attempting to ignore the word ‘sister’ Morgana barred her teeth at the woman viciously. She lunged forwards, dagger plunging into thin air. Morgause swiftly moved out of range. Her eyes turned gold and instantly the dagger fell to the ground, out of reach. Eyes wide, Morgana tried to dive for the dagger. Shaking her head, Morgause sighed.

“Don’t give me more reason to blow Iaonam to hell, Sister.” Her tone was almost sad, her finger gracefully dancing around the detonator in her hands. “It is not your destiny to die here. This is not how I’d want things to end between us.” Drawing her eyebrows together in confusion at the woman’s sincerity, Morgana moved away from the dagger.

“Sister-“

Unable to tolerate that word, the raven-haired woman glowered at the blonde.

“-Stop calling me that, I am no sister or friend of yours.” Her eyes lingered on the detonator; she failed to see the flash of hurt in Morgause’s eyes. She thought of Gwen, of the volunteers, of the Elderly and the _children._ God. They would die. They would all die. No longer thinking of her own life, she met Morgause in a pleading gaze, knowing it was foolish. It was all she had left. 

“I beg of you, spare these people. They’ve done _nothing_ to you.”

Raising her eyebrows, Morgause took another step backwards, finger still alarmingly close to the detonator. She was going to press it. It was the end.

“STOP!” Morgana cried, rushing forwards vulnerable and unarmed. Her eyes wide, her fists clenched, her body _trembling_ with fear. Not for herself, for the thousands of people that would die here today if she didn’t stop Morgause. For a moment the world became frozen in motion, fixated on Morgause and the detonator. A wretched moan of distress ripped through Morgana as she watched the finger move closer to the detonator. Then she spoke dangerous words.

“ _Please,”_ she whispered, not ashamed to show her trauma.  “I’ll do anything! I…I _swear.”_

Glaring menacingly over at the woman, Morgause replied in her harsh yet manipulative voice.

“What makes you think I want anything from you?”

Morgana could tell Morgause was astounded when she didn’t flinch as expected but simply held her ground, eyes burnishing in the flames.

“Because _,”_ she replied sardonically, a sensation swooped over her. She was in control now; she could _feel_ it. Taking a step forwards derisively, she continued. “You haven’t tried to kill me – your first mistake. No doubt you killed Leahme in the first few seconds that he crossed your path.”

Silence. Morgause’s finger drifted away from the detonator for a moment, bringing the tension down a level. Averting her eyes to the ground, she thought pensively over Morgana’s words. She was partly right, of course. When she lifted her head, seemingly unfazed by the deduction, Morgana felt her conviction waver once more.

“I suppose you’re right, and my second mistake?”

Glaring across the distance between them, Morgana barked back through clenched teeth, rage simmering in every word.

“You, called me sister.”

“Oh,” was the rather disconsolate response from the blonde woman, yet again turning the table, changing the scene. “That was never a _mistake_ Morgana, it was a regret.” smiling, for the first time seeming genuine, she explained. “You are not ready to know the truth, not ready to accept how _many_ people have wronged you all your life. Perhaps all you need to know now is that your destiny is far greater than you believe it so.”

Shaking her head, Morgana fought back sharply. She only had to think of Arthur and Gaius to convince herself these words were lies. Then she only had to look down at the detonator for her whole argument to break down and shatter into pieces at her feet. Morgause could blow the whole of Iaonam up any second. No matter what she said, Morgana had to be careful with her retaliation. This _stalemate_ between them may be a huge bluff.

“This isn’t about me. This is about them, _please_ let them live.”

**♦☼♦**

The infirmary was overflowing, reaching the low hundreds with barely enough of them to treat a mere handful of people. The chances of survival were minimally low, but it was worth trying. For some cases, Alys and Gaius’ magic combined with healing practices had done the trick. For other cases, the bodies were brutally injured and required serious attention. This secluded part of the forest, not far from the Breguoin battle, was littered with the sobs of dying men. People were crying out for attention; _help._ Gaius leant down to press a cold cloth against a patient that had become feverish. He held it there for a few moments before he was once again summoned.

“Gaius!!” Leon called, rushing through the makeshift infirmary breathlessly. “We’ve got another one.”

Meeting Leon’s eye, Gaius frowned.

“Bring them in, Leon. I need you to keep an eye on the patient to my right, he’s losing too much blood.” With a brisk nod, Leon beckoned for the people following him to bring her in.

The wounded woman was gently cradled onto the bed of leaves. Alys quickly made her way over, glancing down at the bleeding leg. Clasping Gaius’ shoulder she ushered him away. He stared down at the woman barely half his age. She was still young, still had a life to live. It was possible she had children, a family. The thought was sad.

“I can deal with this one. There are more coming.” She noticed the sorrow in his eyes.

“I fear we can’t save them all.” He replied, averting his eyes away drearily.

With a grave nod, Alys squeezed his hand.

“No we can’t.” she agreed. “But we’re trying.”

**♦☼♦**

A deafening explosion sounded throughout Breguoin. At the sound of the explosion, the plain came to an immediate standstill. Both sides lowered their weapons, searching for the source of the noise. The rumbling was deep and clearly powerful.

“What the hell was that?!” Gwaine called over to Lancelot who slowly walked towards him.

In the sky, Arthur and Aithusa paused. Inquisitively, Arthur probed her mind. An explosion _that big_ would have been visible if on the plain. There were no signs here. His eyes scanned the horizon. Then he saw it. A few miles West of Breguoin, smoke and fire were rising. Holding a hand to his mouth, he felt a wretched, raw sob wash over him. Lancelot and Gwaine spotted the pillars of dark smoke in the sky; Lance fell to his knees dejectedly. Will grit his teeth wrathfully at the sight, hot tears burning his cheeks. Slowly the distraught washed over the plain. The anguish of and gravity what had just happened. As it did so, it reanimated the people. The Druids became more frenzied and passionate, not holding back an inch of magic. Lancelot abruptly stood, and Gwaine pushed forwards taking down whoever came in their way. Arthur screamed savagely, he and Aithusa pitilessly ripping any aircraft in sight to shreds.

**♦☼♦**

Eyes wide, Merlin diverted his attention from Uther as a huge explosion burst through his ears. From here, it was clear exactly where that blast had come from. _Iaonam._ Merlin’s thoughts immediately became frantic. The children; the elderly; Morgana; _Gwen._ He spun round viciously to Uther, outstretching his hand without hesitation, blinded by anger.

“You _monster!”_ he roared, shoving the man to the ground. He fiercely leapt on top before he could escape. “There were _children_ in there.” tears streamed from his eyes as he pinned Uther down, more with his magic than physical strength. “They did _nothing_ to you, and you _killed them!”_ Uther seemed to have noticed Merlin’s lack of physical strength.

All of a sudden, Merlin found himself pushed down brutally. His head hit the rocky ground hard. The pain was enough to stall his magic, prevent him from acting quickly. Uther hoisted him up by his shirt, dropping him back down viciously. Merlin wheezed at the assault, attempting to roll groggily out of the way of Uther’s boots. Regaining a little strength, his eyes flashed gold. Uther dived out of the way of a bright jet of sapphire light. Swiftly he pulled out a new gun from his belt, pointing it at Merlin.

“If you move, you’re finished, Druid scum.” He warned.

Outstretching his palm calmly, Merlin raised his eyebrows. He slowly propelled himself onto his fee.

“If you shoot then _believe me_ ,” There was a twisted sense of amusement on the Druid’s face.

“ _You’re_ finished.”

**♦☼♦**

Aithusa ploughed through the air. As a helicopter approached, she breathed blue flames around it. Arthur continued to fight, despite the floods of sobs threatening to overpower his system. _Morgana,_ Gwen…the _people._ They had all been so cruelly taken away, forever. Dodging the machine’s explosion, they swerved past Kilgarrah. The sight shocked Arthur, breaking him from his thoughts for a moment. Kilgarrah was flying alone, without a rider. More specifically, Merlin wasn’t _there._ The golden Dragon left their presence in seconds. Panic and fear rushed through Arthur. Where was he, was he fallen? In seconds his breathing was unsteady, nausea overcoming his system. So _many_ had died he couldn’t bear any more. His eyes searched frantically around the sky. _Merlin. Merlin!_ A few metres away he spotted sight of Will and his Wyvern. Pushing Aithusa in that direction, he called out over the thundering noise around them.

“WILL!” He shouted.

The Druid on his Wyvern soared closer to him, alarmed by the look of fear on the Once and Future’s face. Hovering beside Aithusa, Will gazed imploringly over to the man.

“Merlin’s gone.” he gasped, flustered by this fact. The adrenaline of war and destruction made him think nothing but the worst.

Gritting his teeth, Will steered his Wyvern skilfully away from a potential hit. Aithusa absently spewed fire at the opponent, biding time for the pair to speak. Will spared a glance up to the great Dragon in the sky.

“How can he _be gone_?!” he replied, not at all pacifying Arthur.

Swallowing-hard, Arthur gripped Excalibur tightly.

“I don’t know…what if…” Will heard the distressed element to his voice. “What if he’s-”

“-No.” The Druid snapped in response, refusing to allow this negativity to roam. Taken-aback by Will’s determination, Arthur stared pensively at him. “You _know_ Merlin better than anyone.”

Shaking his head, the blonde raked a hand through his hair chaotically.

“That’s not true. You’ve known him all your life.”

“Just _think!”_ Will raised his voice seriously, not willing to spar with Arthur here of all places over petty matters such as this. That time had come and gone a while ago. “Think about where he’d go, what he’d do for us…” pause. His eyes softened. “For you.”

Those words triggered a horrific idea in Arthur’s mind. Once it settled there, he couldn’t throw it out. His eyes flashed with dark realisation. Nodding at Will silently, he grimaced. Merlin, _Merlin._ Of course. The idiot. He had gone to face Uther, gone to save Arthur from more heartbreak and pain. Swiftly the pair of them parted ways in the air, Will and Fullmægen attacking the nearest craft that threatened Aithusa and Arthur’s descent down to Mt Breguoin. _Come Aithusa! Faster. We have to get to Merlin!_ Acknowledging that this was crucial, the Dragon dove downwards at a deadly velocity.

They landed on the edge of Mt Breguoin, dust scattering around them at the sheer force of Aithusa’s wings. The dust was thick and scratched at his eyes. Covering them for a second, Arthur slowly pushed forwards. Aithusa growled into the sky ominously, remaining close behind Arthur. Then there was a loud bang. It resonated through the mountain. A gunshot. Eyes wide, heart racing, Arthur plunged forwards frenziedly. A wild panic consumed him as he spotted two figures. One was standing; the other was on the ground. Tears framed his eyes, a deep rage boiling inside of him as his hazy vision came back into focus.

His father was the one standing, gun in hand.

 

 

“MERLIN! _NO!”_

Arthur stared at the man on the ground, overwhelmed with shock. The corners of his vision darkened, his head spun. He felt dizzy, _sick._ Yet still he sprinted with as much strength and vigour he could muster towards him. His breath caught in his throat forcefully, legs quivering as he ran. Merlin was lying there. _Merlin_ of all people. _His_ Merlin had been hurt. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Will snapped angrily, not caring that he was addressing a Clan Leader in such a rude way. “Where the fuck is he?!” His eyes locked on Arthur Pendragon who was lurching forwards slightly. 

“Can’t you _see_ what you’ve become?” Uther said accusingly. At the words, Arthur inhaled raggedly and took a pace forward. “You have been taken from me, _turned against me._ The magic of this land has _changed_ you, destroyed you.”

“Magic _has_ changed me,” Arthur admitted, mimicking his father’s actions and trailing his feet around the circle they’d created. “But not in the way that you think. It has opened my eyes to the world, to _your_ crimes.” 

_You must hurry Arthur, this is it! Their defences are falling; their men are retreating! If you defeat Uther, we have won for sure._


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown begins... I worked hard on this, enjoy.
> 
> Won't be able to update for a few weeks I've got so much academic work I need to do before I can continue!
> 
> But it turns out this story is still going strong...when I said we had less than 10 chapters left about five chapters ago...well that's no true. We've still got another small adventure to go before the end ;) 
> 
> I'm really enjoying writing this story, it's become not just a story but a novel, a huge project I could have never finished without your support - so thanks :) 
> 
> Enjoy this one!

“MERLIN! _NO!”_

Arthur stared at the man on the ground, overwhelmed with shock. The corners of his vision darkened, his head spun. He felt dizzy, _sick._ Yet still he sprinted with as much strength and vigour he could muster towards him. His breath caught in his throat forcefully, legs quivering as he ran. Merlin was lying there. _Merlin_ of all people. _His_ Merlin had been hurt. It was too much. Skidding down beside Merlin, he gently cupped his face. A pallid complexion had overcome Merlin’s skin. It had a sickly, waxen tint, his eyelids were heavy and lazy against his will. His whole was shaking, whether this was out of shock or exhaustion Arthur was unsure. Gently, Arthur moved his palm over across the burning forehead, beaded with sweat, the other reached out for his hand which was _so cold._ Arthur tried to look hopeful, he _really did._ He didn’t want to cry, he didn’t want to let Merlin know that this was _really fucking bad_. But Merlin, he looked like he _was_ dead. The only difference between him and a corpse was that he was breathing.

A virulent laugh escaped Merlin’s lips, clearly noticing the look on the blonde’s face. Arthur turned to Aithusa pleadingly. Holding back his upset, Arthur met those sapphire eyes silently. The Dragon moved closer, glancing down at her master. _Can’t you do something Aithusa?!_ Arthur begged in his head. He glanced over Merlin’s head to where Uther was standing, silently. He seemed unfazed, not making any motion to act or open fire. In a twisted way it seemed he was allowing Arthur time to talk to Merlin. Arthur _willingly_ took that chance. Fingers gently stroking through Merlin’s hair, he groaned in aggravation. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this surely wasn’t how it all ended.

“ _Merlin-”_

“-Arthur…” All of a sudden, the man in his arms became animated, _restless._ His eyes flashed gold as if trying to protect him. Arthur didn’t have the energy to be touched by this gesture; he was more concerned for the man’s welfare. Merlin’s eyes gazed around wildly. They landed on Uther. As they did, he hastily tried to escape Arthur’s vice grip to face the man. His eyes flashed gold once again, sending a slight twinge of pain through Arthur’s hands. Reluctantly, Arthur removed his hands to rid himself of the sting. Merlin tried to stand up, but simply toppled over clumsily again. Instinctively, Arthur’s eyes flashed silver, pressing him down softly when he tried to get up again. There was a look of steel in his eyes. _Don’t be a fool Merlin._ At these words, Merlin attempted to laugh. It was a broken sound.

“…shouldn’t have come here.” He inhaled a deep breath, hand clutching his chest.

It was clear he was addressing Arthur rather than himself.

“You’re right,” Arthur replied, unable to remove the tremble from his voice despite attempting to feign nonchalance. “But I expected no less from an idiot like yourself.”

A small smile twitched over Merlin’s face at the attempted joke before he lost consciousness. It was then Arthur saw a strange, peculiar glow protruding from the wound. He’d never seen a wound quite like it. Come to mention it, now he was actually looking, there was no blood anywhere. There were no signs of a hit at all. Yet he _had_ been hit. He’d heard the shot, seen Merlin fall. Narrowing his eyes, he got back onto his feet. This wasn’t right. They were missing something. He held Excalibur firmly in his hands, swinging it side to side threateningly whilst stalking forwards.

The man in front of him raised his head, lowering the weapon in his hand. They stood a few metres from each other. Uther gazed upon his son, a curious glint in his eyes. Arthur had certainly changed. Here he was fussing over a _Druid_ , brandishing a _sword_ of all things and flying magical creatures. He was dressed in Druid attire; simple clothing that hardly revealed his true self. Uther wondered how Arthur could bear to belittle himself _so much,_ stoop down to the Druids level. He had seen the flash of silver in his son’s eyes many times now. It hurt to see. Arthur had magic. Arthur had been _truly_ lost to the Druids, misled by their ways. Endeavouring to address the man calmly, Arthur glanced back at Merlin.

“What have you done to him?” He asked slowly.

“Fear not Arthur, soon the enchantment will be broken, and you will be returned to me.”

An unpleasant laugh escaped Arthur’s mouth, one of dark amusement. So his father was still blinded by his hatred of magic, that much was clear. As he registered the declaration, his composure faded. Wavering his gaze between Merlin and his father, he felt his heart accelerate rapidly in his burning chest. His gaze landed solely on his father. A minute trace of a triumphant smile slithered over Uther Pendragon’s lips. That was _it._ Arthur exploded. He charged forwards, eyes blazing with a raw inferno that could not be satiated.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?!”

Unaffected by the attempted extortion, Uther took a step forwards towards his son, acting as a mere observer. Aithusa’s alluring voice entered Arthur’s mind.

_Emrys is still alive. Whatever he’s done, it has no signs of real potency yet. I will watch over him for you. But you must hurry Arthur, this is it! Their defences are falling; their men are retreating! If you defeat Uther, we have won for sure._

Defeat. Arthur ground his teeth together, vexed. The implications of that word all led to one imminent ending. Uther reached for his gun, pulling it closer. His intentions were clear.

“Can’t you _see_ what you’ve become?” he said accusingly, gesturing over to the Dragon and Merlin. At the words, Arthur inhaled raggedly and took a pace forward. “You have been taken from me, _turned against me._ The magic of this land has _changed_ you, destroyedyou.”

“Magic _has_ changed me,” Arthur admitted, mimicking his father’s actions and trailing his feet around the circle they’d created. “But not in the way that you think. It has opened my eyes to the world, to _your_ crimes.”

Snarling, Uther shook his head severely.

“You have betrayed _everything,_ you have disgraced Camelot!”

“You have disgraced _mankind.”_ Arthur retaliated. “Camelot is responsible for the death innocent lives, the devastation to homes and broken families. You have just _murdered_ thousands of children-” His voice cracked octaves as he found himself unable to mask his sorrow at the obliteration of Iaonam.

“- _Druids!”_ Uther hissed back, his prejudice blinding him more than Arthur had ever seen.

“People.” He corrected, sorrow quickly dissolving into disgust. “I _know_ you’re not a soldier or a leader. You’re not even a father,” he averted Uther’s eyes as he spoke, feeling the rage radiating off him. He took a step forwards, pushing his sword into his belt. “You’re just a business man in a suit who’s allowed his own personal grief to overrule his judgement and perception.” As he spoke, he felt his own resentment rise. Every feeling in his body was now vulnerably exposed. Too weary to draw it all back in, Arthur helplessly watched them spiral around him.

“You sacrificed my mother, you sent Gaius to the labs, you’ve even opened fire on your son…and now _Morgana_ is…” choking back a sob, his managed to utter the last word. “dead-”

Eyes wide, Uther lunged forwards, shock clear on his face.

“-No.” the man breathed, and the word stung.

Wretchedly, Arthur nodded. Saying it aloud made it a reality. Arthur felt his knees buckle. He dueled dangerously for balance. He lost the duel. A wrenching sensation twisted and turned inside of his body. It knotted in his stomach, tugged at his vanquished heart. It hammered against his head. Morgana. _Morgana._ His sister. His best friend. His world. The sensation reached its optimum level. An excruciating burn flooded into his system. These children, the people, _Morgana –_ they died cruelly. If there were one thing Arthur _knew_ Morgana would ask him to do, it would be to stop this madness before it took more lives.

Opening his eyes abruptly, Arthur pulled himself up from the ground. As he gazed over to his father, he saw something foreign. The man held a hand to his mouth, shaking his head silently.  He wallowed in what Arthur hoped was overriding guilt and remorse. Not that he _deserved_ to mourn over people he had callously cast aside. For his sake, Arthur hoped it fucking _hurt_ because the inner turmoil wrecking havoc inside of his body was slowly crushing his soul. He hoped his father felt the fire inside, _burning him,_ searing through his blood. He hoped it _purged_ every last inch of strength. Holding Excalibur with newfound intrepidity, Arthur addressed him.

“It is no wonder the people who once cared about you have turned their backs to your blackening heart.” Uther remained silent, feeling his emotions deceive him and surface on his face. Watching the torment and misery merge on his father’s face, Arthur continued steadily.

“Enough people have died, on both sides. Now we can stand here and fight each other until one of us dies. Or,” he could _hear_ Aithusa’s scolding tone in his head, but he spoke his mind nonetheless. “We can put a stop to this.” He gazed longingly at his father. “I will grant you mercy, if you promise to leave and never return.”

Studying his son, Uther remained cryptically quiet. They continued to walk around each other deceptively. Arthur knew offering to set his father free was dangerous, particularly when the word ‘promise’ was involved. Nonetheless, Uther appeared to be stirring over the proposition. Or not.

“I cannot return without oil, without _results._ Camelot will fall.”

“Camelot _should_ fall, or at least your gluttonous legacy should. There were many places to mine in Albion for resources without causing death and destruction. Yet you decided to do _just_ that. You’ve ripped the hearts out of thousands of people, tainted this beautiful land. The blood of my mother _and_ my sister is on your hands. For that, I can never forgive you.” With that, he took out his sword and held it in front of him. His eyes darkened sadistically. “ _Never.”_

“Then you leave me no choice.” Uther said bitterly, astounding Arthur at the words.

Gazing down at his feet, Arthur frowned. He’d been _so_ focused on Uther and what he had to say that he hadn’t noticed they had strayed away from where they once stood. He examined their surroundings. They were now close to the edge of Mt Breguoin, _too close_. As Arthur surveyed Uther Pendragon’s face, he saw something new in those eyes. It was something he couldn’t place. Drawing his eyebrows together in confusion, he held the gaze. Almost resignedly, Uther offered his son a wistful smile. Comprehension dawned upon Arthur. His father began to walk backwards. Swallowing-hard, Arthur took slow steps forward, afraid if he lunged it would disrupt the events that were simmering in the cauldron of fate. His father began to walk towards the _edge._

They shared a silent exchange that had only occurred a few times in all Arthur’s life between them. He recalled the first time; he had been just three. Morg and he were playing together outside. It was cold. He remembered breathing on Morg and declaring the visible puff of air was his dragon-fire (to his relief, Uther _hadn’t_ heard the magical reference). Then he’d climbed too high to prove his stubborn sister wrong. He’d fallen. Uther, who had been on the phone doing ‘Camelot’ things as he had called it, hung up without a moment’s thought. He’d rushed over to his son and cradled his head with those black leather gloves. That night, he’d said three words Arthur would rarely hear again from him: I love you. Breaking the eye contact, Uther crushed his teeth together.

“I will not die by the hand of my own son.”

Arthur no longer saw a tyrant who had charred this land with weapons and fire, left deep, untreated scars in the earth. He no longer saw the oppressor who had been the face of the Magical Containment Act, ensuring Druids outside of Albion were taken to laboratories and treated _hideously._ He no longer saw the self-proclaiming villain. He saw one thing: his father. The man who had once cradled him in his arms when he had been scared after Morgana’s nightmares, the man who had walked him to school, the man who had raised him. He saw his father. And _fuck_ that just did it.

Gasping for air, Arthur threw his sword to the ground behind him. With urgency he reached out his hand, too far to enclose a fist around the man’s shirt and haul him back to safety. The distance grew wider, _too far._ All of a sudden he felt closer to his father than he’d ever been. Paradoxically he also felt the furthest, and it was tragic.

“-Father.” His voice was low, _cautionary;_ like a man in control _._ But Arthur wasn’t in control; Arthur wasn’t pulling the strings here. _Fuck._ Uther was. _Uther_ Pendragon was fucking in control. The man continued to walk backwards, until he hit the end of the mountainside. Arthur moved closer desperately. He watched the back of the man’s feet slither slowly off the stone. His voice betrayed him, full of despair.

“ _Father.”_

Uther shut his eyes. Silence reigned over the battlefield before the Druids broke into vast, unanimous cheering.

“FATHER!”

Arthur ran to the edge of the cliff. His body froze. His father had jumped. Uther had _jumped._ Shock consumed him as he watched his father fall perilously. Vehement tears leaked from his eyes, not daring to fall. He couldn’t cry. Everything the man had done pelted him sadistically in the chest. He felt his magic fizzing, shattering against his skin. People had died, children had died; settlements had been lost. It was a painful reminder, a reminder that even after _all of this_ , he hadn’t done the right thing. He had still tried to save a man Albion deemed not worth saving. That. That _was_ enough to let the tears fall. He didn’t realise he was leaning too far over the edge until a pair of arms hauled him back and the view changed. Arthur struggled against their grip; unaware he was murmuring ‘father’ frantically. Pushing against the arms viciously, he broke free. He didn’t bother asking who it was. He gazed over to the White Dragon, eyes ferocious.

“I command you to take me down there Aithusa!” The Dragon remained motionless. “ _TAKE ME DRAGON-”_

Snarling, Aithusa spat a small blue flame out of her nostrils. It narrowly missed his feet.

“-You are no dragonlord, you cannot force me to make a decision that is wrong. You offered him clemency; he refused.” 

But Arthur was already walking away from the Dragon, fuck he was walking away from _Merlin,_ disorientated and unexpectedly so blinded by his anguish. He didn’t think it would hurt, watching his father die. But _fuck._ It hurt. It hurt more than he wanted to admit, because what kind of person could mourn for a man who had caused so much suffering? The figure who had pulled him away from the edge reappeared. They stood in front of him sternly, jaw tightened, fists balled. Eyes…those eyes. This time Arthur saw _exactly_ who they were. Blinking rapidly to adjust his vision, Arthur studied that pale face, those emerald eyes, that raven-black hair. Assured it was an illusion, he tried to brush past the figure. They held their hand out calmly, acting as a barrier. Their voice and words were _far_ from calm.

“Will you just look at yourself!” the venom was clear. “Stop it! This isn’t you! Uther _wanted_ this. He didn’t do it because had to; he did it because it was the biggest insult he could ever give you, his final move. He _wanted_ you to act this way, to prove that you are exactly like him and would go to any means to ease your suffering. He wanted to _convince_ you that you are like him.”

Arthur stared at the figure, eyes wide and desolate. Emptiness swathed across his face as he listened intently to her words. It was all he could do to stop himself from passing out in disbelief. She was right. Fuck of course _she_ was right! He should have known his father’s last move would have been an insincere, deliberate taunting to his son. Casting the thought aside because it hurt his head and broke his heart, Arthur studied another heart-breaking sight before him. She was standing _right here,_ right now. Her powerful, influential voice could turn tides and defy gravity if it wanted to.

He was certain. A fragmented laugh escaped his lips. This could not be…it _was._ _How…_ how was _this_ possible? He wanted nothing more for this to be true, _prayed_ it with all his heart. Their watery eyes linked powerfully.

She smiled comfortingly at him, her lips parting to reveal those teeth Arthur had once likened to piercing daggers when he was six. She’d then retorted that they _were_ because she was a blood-sucking vampire, and Gaius had promptly shushed the pair of them for talking about magical ‘nonsense’ in public. The memory crashed over his skin. He choked on his words with a stutter that was supposed to resemble a fond laugh. Speechless, he watched as she narrowed her eyes. The frequent and infinite passion she possessed added a radiant glow to her skin.

“You’re _not_ like him Arthur. You’re not.” Her defiant, bold tone withered into a soft one that caressed his ears. “I won’t let you destroy everything you are because of his selfishness.” With that she drew him hastily into her arms. That was all the confirmation Arthur needed that this was real. He let go the breath he had been holding, releasing with it the bottled emotions. Pulling her closer, Arthur clasped his eyes shut, embracing the woman he was afraid he’d lost forever. _Morgana. Morgana, it’s…you’re alive._ He felt his mind whisper because he couldn’t bear to say it aloud afraid it would crumble and turn into a stream of crackled syllables. _I’m here Arthur; it’s me._  

“You acted like a noble man Arthur, you gave him a _choice_ ,” She whispered into his ear, glancing over to the mountainside behind him. “It’s more than what any of us would have done in your place.” Humming in agreement vaguely, Arthur gradually reopened his eyes. As he did, Merlin and Aithusa came into view. Morgana’s words served as a vital reminder to who exactly _had_ been in his place. Breaking the embrace abruptly, he released the woman and rushed over towards the white Dragon and the Druid.

Aithusa’s tail was curled around the body on the ground. The expression in her sapphire eyes wasn’t promising. Choosing to ignore it, Arthur leant down beside Merlin. He was pale; _more_ pale than he had been which he was unsure was even possible. The abnormal glowing from the chest had dwindled down to a mere ember of white light, adding a peculiar hue to his skin. His forehead was still burning. His hands were still cold. Arthur spared Morgana a look that said all he couldn’t say, before turning his attention back to the Druid.

“Merlin,” he breathed. Nothing. Silence. Swallowing-hard, he leant closer, enough for Merlin’s face to become a little blurry at the proximity. “Merlin?”

Blinking open his eyes faintly, a smile ghosted over Merlin’s face. Pulling back slightly, Arthur felt relieved. Still, he wanted to wipe it off because he failed to understand how Merlin could be _smiling_ of all things right now. His enigmatic, striking blue eyes were even more of a contrast against it skin now his complexion was almost ashen. Somehow, Merlin still found the strength to speak.

“Arthur,” concern was etched into his croaky, sore voice. The strain on it made Arthur queasy just thinking about what had happened between him and Uther. “You’re okay.” Then he gasped for air. There was a slight daze over him, distancing him directly from the scene. Arthur could feel this distance and it worried him. “I’m… _not_ okay.”

“Well observed Merlin.” Arthur spat sarcastically, though the bite lacking in his voice and was replaced with tender affection. Glancing up at the White Dragon questioningly, Arthur grimaced. _You said it wasn’t potent! What’s happening to him?_ Averting her gaze, the Dragon roared, clearly beckoning Kilgarrah. _I don’t know Arthur I’m sorry._ This wasn’t looking good at all. And although he could hear the cheers of the People, the rejoicing on the battlefield as what was left of the dark army faded over the horizon to never return, all he felt was sorrow.

“If,” Merlin began, surprisingly calm for the state he was in. “I die here…I just need…-"

“- _Don’t!”_ Arthur hissed wildly, absently clutching Merlin’s shirt in his fists. He put on a convincing calm and calculated voice. “You’re going to be _fine._ I won’t hear any of that nonsense, not from you.”  

The thud of a golden Dragon landing on the ground absorbed attention for a moment. Kilgarrah gazed down at the young warlock, exchanging a pensive glance with Aithusa.

“Can you help him?” Arthur asked, not realising he was pressing his palm against the great Dragon’s chest until it looked down at the hand in confusion. Removing it, he raised his eyebrows. “Kilgarrah?”

“I fear that this is no natural sickness,” The Dragon eventually said, and well _really_ Arthur could have deduced that by himself and without riddles. He pressed his lips together in frustration, wondering if the Dragon had anything else to say. “I have not seen anything like this before…”

“-Arthur!” Turning round, Arthur watched Morgana run towards them, weapon in hand. As she got closer, the two Dragons became fixated at what was in her hands. Aithusa flinched away from it unwillingly. “It’s Uther’s gun. There’s something odd about it.”

“We’ll take it with us,” Arthur stated, flinging one of Merlin’s arms around his shoulder. “Perhaps Gaius will be able to figure it out.”

Merlin’s voice sounded quietly beside him.

“ _Alive.”_ It was full of relief, then a wretched. “ _Gwen…”_

Balancing Merlin on the other side, Morgana smiled.

“We made it out before the blast Merlin,” she cast Arthur a triumphant look. “ _All_ of us.” The news warmed his heart, a genuine smile lingering on his lips for a second. When Merlin moaned, his smile faded.

“We’ll talk more about what happened in Iaonam later.” Arthur pretended not to see Morgana flinch at the words. Gently, the pair of them placed Merlin on Kilgarrah’s back. Merlin had slipped out of consciousness again, breathing heavily and unevenly.

“I’ll go with him.” Arthur stubbornly said before anybody could protest.

He _knew_ there would be protest.

“You are the Once and Future,” Kilgarrah replied. “The People of Albion are waiting for your presence on the battlefield.”

Gripping his hand, Morgana squeezed it reassuringly.

“I know the last thing you want to do is declare victory while Merlin is suffering,” she said. “But you are a not a simple Druid, you’re a leader.”

Nodding reluctantly, Arthur gazed over to Merlin wistfully. Mounting Aithusa, he frowned.

“Look after him, _please_.” Bowing his head in response, Kilgarrah broke into flight, flying back to Iaonem with Merlin.

**♦☼♦**

The battlefield was littered with bodies, blood and destruction. Arthur and Morgana walked through the wreckage silently, paying their respects to those who had fallen in the fight for justice. Amongst the casualties were many Druids. It stung Arthur’s eyes as they carefully treaded through the massacre. So _many_ had died. The magnitude of this great battle finally sunk in. The Breguoin plain stretched for many miles, all of it consumed in smoke, death and fire. Reaching for Arthur’s hand, Morgana swallowed-hard as her eyes gazed over the bodies in grief. From behind, Aithusa followed, white wings tucked gracefully into her back. She grumbled deep in her chest, murmuring something in Dragon tongue that neither Arthur nor Morgana understood.

_Helsceaða œne! Bereofan ċaeim âmaş_

_Hei cnyssan ofer, măwe đruiţe ĩean gehrören_

Not far ahead stood a group of people, roughly a dozen. Behind this group of people, hundreds of Druids that had survived were _also_ standing, offering new hope and new light to the world that had been finally rid of a great evil. Relief washed over Arthur when his eyes met his oldest friend; Gwaine. Standing beside Gwaine were Will, Lancelot and Elätha. Behind this group, Arthur spotted Raegan and Topia, a majority of the Clan leaders, some of the Elders and a large mass of surviving Druids. As he approached them, his feet marching silently to the fading drums of war, all eyes focused upon him. Less than a few meters from his friends, Arthur lifted his head brazenly; tip of Excalibur plunged into the ground. There was great intensity in his stare.

Then, he cast his sword into the air majestically. It was a grandiose gesture, one of bravery, respect and one that promised a new beginning. At the gesture, the plain became alive with cheering and applause. Druids pushed their weapons into the air in victory, some too overwhelmed to do anything other than smile or laugh. Arthur forced a smile onto his lips. He almost stumbled over when Aithusa fired a single jet of blue flame onto the sword. She had to always be theatrical and pander the crowd, didn’t she? Gazing up at the sword in wonder, his eyes widened as its body glowed with a sapphire tint, the golden engravings more prominent. This spurred on the cheering. Lowering his sword, Arthur silently examined it before casting Aithusa a questioning glance.

_It has now withstood the fire of two Dragons. This sword is sacred; the first of its kind. Treasure it Arthur, it is forever yours._

Sliding a hand over the metal that was ice cold, Arthur gaped at it in wonder. Catching sight of Morgana, Lancelot bolted forwards urgently. She only had to nod with a small smile to evoke a heart wrenching, honest smile from him and tears of joy. He fell into her arms, the pair of them breathing soft laughs. As Gwaine approached them he exchanged a cautious glance with Will. They pair of them frowned, and he asked the question everybody had in the back of their minds but didn’t dare bring it forwards. Arthur felt his composure falter as the words washed through his ears, the cheering slowly dissolving away.

“Where’s Merlin?”

Averting his eyes, Arthur swallowed-hard. Topia and Elätha stood beside Gwaine, their eyes full of concern. Everything inside Arthur ached, throbbed. He wanted nothing more than to tell them all Merlin was fine. He wished that could have been the words he said. He wished Merlin was standing beside him now, strong and resilient, able to relish the scene of his People rejoicing in their triumph. He pressed a hand to his pounding head, not realising he had fallen backwards into someone’s arms. Blinking, he heard voices around him, but they were speaking far too slowly. Everything suddenly flickered from slow to fast in a confusing, disorientating blur that seemed not to care it was messing up his balance.

“Where’s Merlin?” Will repeated, this time more insistent and intimidating.

“Stop it, can’t you see he’s overwhelmed?” Morgana hissed back, hand cradling Arthur’s neck that threatened to roll his head back with dizziness.

“His is alive,” Topia sighed, seeming to instantly bring the atmosphere down from traumatised to inquisitive and concerned. “I can still feel his magic among us.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Will snapped angrily, not caring that he was addressing a Clan Leader in such a rude way. “Where the fuck is he?!” His eyes locked on Arthur Pendragon who was lurching forwards slightly. Arthur felt shame and guilt consume him. He should have got there sooner, he could have prevented this, and he could have prevented _all of this_ if he’d acted swiftly. Will’s hostile tone alerted him, scared him. They had just been on seemingly good terms, almost _friends._ He was sure, for what had happened Will would never forgive.

“I-” he stammered, as he spoke he narrowed his eyes in confusion at the look of pure _fear_ and terror on their faces.

Then it happened so damn fast he almost thought he’d imagined it.

“-ARTHUR LOOK OUT!”

There was a gunshot. Just one; a loud one that fired menacingly through his ears. There was rapid movement around him, screams. He heard Morgana yell out desperately. Aithusa growled, her wings flapping dangerously as she tried to source the noise. Arthur barely had time to register the word of warning, before he was pushed out the way valiantly. As his vision blinked in and out of focus, the events quickly swam through his mind. _Gunshot._ Look out. Shove. Push. Scream. _Gunshot._ Cries. _Gunshot fucking gunshot!_ Determinedly pulling his weary mind back into focus, he leapt onto his feet. What he saw shocked him. Lance and Morgana were viciously standing over a rogue enemy who was scarcely breathing, tearing the gun from his hands. Gwaine was crouched down on the ground. But not where Arthur had fallen.

Arthur put the pieces together. The man on the ground must have mustered the last of his strength, taking a pretty accurate shot. The shot was for Arthur. His heart raced, palms clammy and breath ragged.

But he wasn’t dead.

He hadn’t been shot. 

Dark realisation flashed in his eyes. Someone had _pushed him_ out the way _. Gunshot._ ARTHUR LOOK OUT! Cries. Screams. Someone had taken the bullet for him. The voice of these words gave his rescuer an identity. Rushing over, Arthur felt bitter tears prickle his eyes, because this wasn’t _fair_ at all. The one who had taken the bullet for him was Will. Will was on the ground. Will was _dying._ Blood stained his shirt. There was no denying the wound was fatal. Will had saved Arthur Pendragon from certain death. Falling to his knees beside the dying man, Arthur looked up at Aithusa who shook her head sadly in response to the question his watery eyes were asking. He could not be saved.

“Will,” he muttered, remorse and anguish drenching his voice. “You saved my life.”

The man on the ground gazed up gradually, a bitter smile squeezed over his face.

“A thank you would be nice,” he managed to choke out through his agonising cries of pain. “Though…wouldn’t expect it from you.”

Gently, Arthur chuckled at the words. His morbid expression contradicted the gesture. Will spluttered violently, blood spewing from his cracked lips.

“I hated you once,” he gasped, clenching his eyes shut as a wave of irrepressible agony washed over him. Talking was clearly not doing him any good. However, as Gwaine tried to shush him, the man continued in objection, pushing the hand away from his bleeding chest. Silent, Arthur felt his lips twitch at the words. “But I…I was wrong. You’re a good man, a _great_ man; great enough to die for. And I would do it again-”

Bowing his head, Gwaine sighed. The reality of the situation had been breached.

“- _Will-”_ Arthur began, his voice failing him when he tried to be stern.

“-Look after Merlin, _please_.” The dying man retorted bluntly, a bitter smile spreading over his face. Abruptly he began to cough again. This time he cried out in pain, wincing as his hands reached for his chest anxiously. Gwaine leant a little closer in concern; smiling bleakly down at the ‘ray of sunshine’ he’d become acquainted with the past few months. Unable to speak, Arthur bit his lip and turned to Morgana. She shared a penitent look with him. Vibrancy and resolution faded from Arthur’s eyes, diminishing until there was no sparkle left. _Merlin._ If- _when,_ there really was no time to think about ‘if or when’ – woke, he would be crestfallen, confounded by this horrible news. Will’s voice pulled him back in.

“I’m… _scared.”_ He hissed. Right now, Arthur knew the one thing Will needed was Merlin, his _best friend._ Or Gwen. They would have soothed him, been able to console the dying man. He needed somebody to tell him it was all going to be okay. Instead he had Arthur who could do nothing but delicately respond to the blunt, brash words that Will was renowned for. Arthur had told enough lies the past few months; he couldn’t bear to tell another. Inhaling a deep breath, he reached for one of Will’s trembling hands, clasping it in a vice grip. Their eyes met fiercely.

“You’re a brave man,” Arthur cast Gwaine a dejected look. “And Merlin is lucky to have such a loyal friend; as am I.” he gazed at Will vigilantly for confirmation; they’d never really addressed this topic before. Their relationship just kind of became gradually less hostile and more civil. The slight pressure on his hand and the incredulous laugh assured him. That was all the assurance Arthur would receive. Slowly Will’s body became motionless. His trembling lips ceased trembling. His small moans of protest faded into quiet. His eyes lost their life, their effervescence. Then it was over. Will was dead. Will had died, saving Arthur Pendragon’s life. Releasing the hand sadly, the blonde bowed his head. Gwaine gently rested a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, seeming to struggle with his own composure.

Out from the crowd a brutal, devastating cry echoed in the silence. The woman pushed through the crowd, finally making it to the front. Her eyes widened in horror.

“WILL!” Freya keened in despair, holding a hand to her mouth as her knees buckled.

Macabre sobs overwhelmed her frail system, wrecking havoc on her body. She dived towards the body, gently stroking his forehead and kissing the pale, cold skin tenderly. Her hands were shaking as she cradled his head in her lap. Tears continued to stream down her face. She was inconsolable. She’d lost her _love._ The sight _broke_ Arthur. The pain she felt was unimaginable, but to _think_ of losing your loved one in such a way… He sat not too far from her, despondency and misery clouding over him. He felt the tears trickle down his skin; his lips trembled at the sight of something totally destructive and soul shattering. This was almost worse than watching Will die, watching Freya _mourn,_ knowing that nothing could ease this tragedy. Nothing could nurse this pain. Her raw, hoarse cries bellowed out in the humble silence.

Arthur stood dismally as did Gwaine, allowing Freya time to grieve in solitude over Will. His death served as a bleak reminder of all who had fallen. Unable to control the choked sob that left his mouth in a muffled cry, Arthur gazed out across the plain. Hundreds, _thousands_ had died here today. They all would have families, maybe children who were waiting anxiously for their return. Freya’s loud shrieks of grief had vanished into silence, her voice unable to sustain them. But she was still weeping, her face and soul contorted in such a way it brought many around her to tears. Lifting his head, turning from the sight, Arthur pushed Excalibur into his belt.

“Tonight, we will hold a memorial in honour of those fallen, at Iaonem.” He declared to Elätha who nodded in agreement. Darting his eyes to Morgana, Arthur frowned.

“Escort the People back to Iaonem, I’ll meet you there.” He leapt up onto Aithusa’s back swiftly, sparing one final look down upon Will and a broken Freya. Then his eyes met the sky, and his sadness morphed into worry. The sun would set in an hour, and Freya would become the lethal Bastet. She seemed to feel his prodding gaze upon her. Turning round to face him, she cast him a deflated look. Her curse would take hold soon, and it could endanger the People. She kissed Will’s head once final time before bravely walking away. Morgana made haste to follow her but was brusquely stopped by Eloŵen, leader of the Serepolis Clan. Arthur watched her stalk off into the Breguoin battlefield, away from the direction of Iaonem.

Then he and Aithusa rose into the sky, flying briskly towards Iaonem. The cold air pelted his skin and made the tears on his face sting a little. Aithusa said nothing as they glided through the air, clearly lost in thought and pensive. In the near distance, Arthur spotted the ancient, majestic area. There was a large group of People there, the children and Elderly that had escaped the tunnels. He spared a small smile for them. It faded as they drew closer. _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin._ Aithusa landed on the large stone plateau. Without hesitation, Arthur rushed through the crowds of children and women and elderly all elated to see him. He treaded urgently through the settlement, not stopping until he found the secluded section behind a large stone.

As he rounded the corner, his eyes met Gaius and Gwen; Kilgarrah was standing a little further back. The pair of them were sat around a pallid, restless figure; Merlin. Gwen met Arthur’s eyes, too concerned about Merlin to smile or offer any kind of verbal greeting.

Placing a hand on Gaius’ shoulder, Arthur gazed down at Merlin.

“How is he? What have you found?” he enquired; gazing over to the gun that Gaius had dismantled on the floor.

“That was no ordinary gun that shot Merlin,” the old man explained, pressing a cold cloth against the Druid’s forehead. Clenching his fists, Arthur sighed. Of course it wasn’t an ordinary gun, that’s _just_ what he needed to hear. Gwen reached over and took over the job as Gaius turned to Arthur with a grimace.

“So wh-what does that _mean?”_ Arthur pried nervously, incapable of steadying his voice.

Gaius gestured over to the bullet that he had pulled out of Merlin. Inspecting it, Arthur held it in his hands. There were small engravings around its body, symbols he didn’t recognise. Narrowing his eyes curiously, he studied them meticulously. All in all, these symbols were definitely Druid symbols. Magic _was_ part of this. A strangled moan left his lips as the thought rushed through his mind. Gaius’ words confirmed his fears.

“There is no bleeding, no signs of physical injury other than a severe fever and sickness. This bullet suggests that the gun was induced with powerful, dark magic.”

Not liking the sound of this, Arthur held the bridge of his nose. Kilgarrah spoke before Gaius could continue.

“Its purpose was not to hurt the body, but to inflict magical injury upon Emrys.” Flinching at the proposal, Arthur turned back to Gaius. His heart was racing, his eyes watery and vision blurry. He _couldn’t_ listen to the bleakness in their voices, in _all of their voices._ It fucking hurt too much. Thus, he tried to counteract it.

“So its hurting Merlin’s _magic_ , not him?” the optimism in his voice was evident. It was instantly crushed.

“Merlin _is_ magic.” Gaius replied grimly, almost scolding Arthur for his naivety. “It is as vital to his body as his organs.” Hitching a breath anxiously, Arthur longingly gazed down at the fallen man. Oh how he _wished_ Merlin would just get to his feet and start spewing nonsense or making bad jokes right now. He didn’t, to say the least. What _did_ happen next however, crumbled Arthur’s world. He heard the words resound through his ears hauntingly.

“Without magic, Merlin will surely die.”

The words were drenched in sorrow, as if Gaius already believed Merlin _was_ dead. It unsettled Arthur. He may _have_ magic, but he wasn’t all that knowledgeable about it. Seeing Gaius uneasy, so lacking in hope truly terrified him. But it wasn’t Gaius’ bleak and miserable expression that ignited an inferno inside of him. It was Gwen. Never able to conceal her emotions, it was obvious when she was deliberately keeping quiet. He’d learnt this many months ago from Merlin. Arthur ground his teeth. He looked over Gaius’ shoulder and over to her. Immediately she broke the eye contact, refusing to initiate it again. Her eyes rested on the ground, on Merlin, _anywhere_ but Arthur. That was enough proof for him. Ignoring the raw pain in his body, the throbbing of unclean, fresh wounds, Arthur leapt furiously into action. Seconds later, he was in Gaius’ face, eyes fierce.

“What aren’t you telling me?” averting his eyes in the same manner Gwen had, Gaius frowned grimly. He made no effort to respond, unfazed by Arthur’s sudden invasion of his personal space. Breathing fast and heavy, Arthur stared at the old man imploringly, hand clasped on his sword tightly for support. Finally, he met Arthur’s eyes.

“Arthur, you need to rest, you are wounded and-”

Flinging Gaius’ hands off his shoulders rapidly, Arthur took a step backwards. Hurt and betrayal were rife in his tormented expression. His eyes met Merlin’s pale face and with a slow blink, he turned to Gaius once more.

“Don’t lie to me Gaius. I’m not dying, Merlin is. I refuse to rest until I _know_ we have tried all that we can.” There was intensity to Arthur’s voice, a grit determination that the others around him desperately clung onto. It Imploringly, he gazed into Gaius’ eyes. The old man, his old friend, returned the gaze. He eventually succumbed to the stare with a dejected sigh. Arthur held his breath anxiously, waiting for Gaius’ response. 

“There is a special flower, the Mortius flower. If mixed in with certain plant roots and herbs, it could restore Merlin to health.” Pause. Arthur sensed there was something he was purposefully omitting. Before he could enquire what it was, Gaius continued. “It is _very_ rare (Arthur pressed his eyes shut dismally at the negative words.), in fact I don’t know a single Druid who has _ever_ found one.”

Arthur paced back and forth, hand on his chin firmly. He stayed like this for a few minutes. They all watched with trepidation as he increased his pace and then drastically slowed down. His gait was uneven, oozing with tension that attempted to spread over the rest of them. It almost did so too; ready to plunge the whole group into eternal darkness. Then abruptly, Arthur came to a halt. He lifted his head firmly and met Gaius’ eyes with burning resolution. He appeared to have come to a decision.

“Where is this flower?”

“ _Arthur…”_ Gwen breathed, cupping her mouth as unwilling sobs tried to creep out her mouth and into their surroundings. Gently, she prodded Merlin’s forehead with the damp cloth again, not able to look in their direction.

Eyes wide and uncertain, Arthur’s gaze darted between the woman and Gaius. Gaius bowed his head for a moment, clasping his hands together. Neither were offering words of explanation for their behaviour. He turned behind him to meet the surprisingly meditative Dragons. Behind their enigmatic eyes, there was definite sadness, one that could not be overlooked. Spinning around, trapped in a web of upset that he didn’t understand, Arthur blinked back his tears. He swallowed-hard as he met Gaius’ eyes, not liking this eerie _knowing_ silence that hovered around them all and excluded him. The old man smiled despondently before words spilled from his mouth.

The gravity of the statement hit him full on with the intensity of a physical shove. Shock gripped his system, overpowering him. Arthur stumbled forwards weakly, eyes rolling into the back of his head. His knees wobbled, and he felt the arms of Gaius wrapped around him. His whole body trembled, a series of deep, _pleading_ moans slipping from his gaping mouth. He clutched Gaius’ robes tightly, gasping for air between tragic, raw wordless noises that he didn’t even know he could make until now.

“Its only known place of growth was deep within the Crystal Cave.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Helsceaða œne! Bereofan ċaeim âmaş, Hei cnyssan ofer, măwe đruiţe ĩean gehrören - Evil has been defeated! We are free from this dark oppression. It is over, but many druids have fallen in this battle.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still got stuff to do but couldn't resist updating! Enjoy this one :)

“Wh- _no!”_ Arthur gasped, hurt and confusion stretched over his pale face. He shook his head incredulously at these impossible, cruel words. Fate was surely playing a sick game with his mind, for Gaius’ words could _not_ be true. Theyjust fucking couldn’t. He pointed a finger angrily as if to cast the blame for Merlin’s illness upon his old friend. Gaius didn’t even flinch, he knew better than to do so. Instead, he blinked sadly as he watched the young man he’d once looked after dissolve into a frenzied mess.

 “You! Wh- _why_ would you _say_ that?”

Staggering backwards, he held a hand his throbbing head. The _Crystal Cave._ It was a vile joke, laughing sadistically as Arthur’s balance faltered. It kept laughing, echoing into his shrieking ears. He felt his heart beat waver. Then it was being shredded, cracking split down the middle. He tried to inhale a deep breath, to ensure he could remain standing. Then another wave of this overwhelming nausea hit. _The fucking Crystal Cave._ Of course that had to be the place the Mortius flower could be found. He stood silently for a moment, gazing over to Merlin. The man now _looked_ like he really was in peril, his body shaking, his breath uneven and his skin waxen, drenched with sweat. As he reached out urgently for the man with trembling fingers, he winced at the touch. Merlin was _ice cold._ Yet he was burning hot. Blinking back tears, he met Gaius’ miserable eyes. _Disappointment_ flooded through him at the expression.

He had _lost hope_.

“So that’s it then?” he barked, glowering lividly at him. “You’re not even going to _try?”_ The old man averted his eyes to the ground. The silent gesture seemed to answer Arthur’s questions. Unfortunately, it was not the answer he was looking for. But it was the one he feared he’d find. Leaning closer, Arthur’s voice dropped to a private whisper full of intensity.

“Merlin risked his life to save you when you were in the labs. _He_ didn’t give up on you, despite the odds.”

Gaius met Arthur’s eyes again. The words evoked a stern frown; one full of wisdom the blonde wished wasn’t there or wasn’t earned because hell, nobody deserved to be on the receiving end of _that_ kind of frown in this situation. The frown itself was a fact, a fact that stated the obvious – the obvious being what he didn’t – _refused_ to accept.

“ _Arthur,”_ Gaius began, casting his eyes back to look at Merlin. Arthur felt his resolve crumble at the sound of his name, the _way_ Gaius looked at Merlin. His foundations were slowly wavering. He breathed rapidly, cheeks puffing in and out as he tried to oxygenate his shaking body. He wasn’t sure how much longer it would suppress the dizziness clouding over him. Gaius’ voice reached his ears in stretched out, low chunks.

“The Crystal Cave, it was obliterated, _destroyed._ If anything is left there, it is ash and dust, mere remnants of what it once was.”

At that moment Hunith appeared. She cupped her mouth, an agonised cry spilling from her lips as she darted towards her son. The only family she had left. Gaius moved to console her, gently pressing his hand upon her shoulder. The woman met Gwen’s gentle, brown eyes fearfully. Arthur watched, totally horrified. Of all people, Hunith didn’t deserve such suffering. She had lost her husband to the hand of Camelot. Now she may – _no._ Fuck no. This _wasn’t_ how it ended; this _couldn’t_ be how it all ended. Gritting his teeth, he refused to think about that. Merlin was going to live. He was going to ensure it. He was going to save Merlin, even if it fucking killed him. Suddenly, Hunith with her beautiful – but profoundly _sad_ and weary _–_ eyes gazed over to him. He offered her a simple nod of his head; she weakly smiled in response. It was his confirmation to her. She understood, clasping her son’s hand tenderly.

Arthur turned away from them assertively, striding towards Aithusa. They all silently watched as he stopped by the Dragon. Gwen drew her eyebrows together in bewilderment. Nobody dared to speak, or ask. He pulled Excalibur from his belt, thrusting it into the ground before him. Then slowly, he fell onto his knees, head bowed. The White Dragon blinked in surprise at the gesture; Kilgarrah was unable to hide his smile. The Once and Future, _oh_ how the legends only told _half_ of his greatness, an ounce of his courage, inches of his fortitude! Arthur lifted his head gradually, meeting Aithusa’s crystal eyes earnestly. She lowered her head, now face to face with the man. He felt her breath on his face pushing his blond hair off his face, then back down to his forehead rhythmically. Clasping the hilt of the sword, he raised his eyebrows. The great, elegant Dragon before him seemed to understand his implications. Without words, the two appeared to be at the same conclusion.

He cast a look to Kilgarrah who lightly bowed his head, watching intently. It appeared he seemed to be approving of this silent request. That was all Arthur needed. Pulling himself onto his feet, Arthur pushed Excalibur back into his belt. As he did so, Aithusa bowed her head, allowing Arthur to climb onto her back. A small smile dusted the White Dragon’s scaly lips. In an instance, it was _clear_ to the Druids what Arthur Pendragon was about to do. Gaius asked his intentions aloud anyway, nervous and unsure.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find the flower,” Arthur replied as if it was the most obvious answer in the entire world and completely possible. “I cannot _sit_ and wait here, knowing Merlin is dying.”

“Don’t be stupid Arthur,” a new voice snapped and honestly Arthur couldn’t recall when she had entered the scene. Behind her, he saw the clan leaders who had arrived back to Iaonem. They gazed over to Merlin solemnly. A few of them whispered silent words- _prayers-_ and Arthur couldn’t help but wince at the prospect of offering _prayers._ This wasn’t out of their hands yet. The raven-haired woman tore her eyes between Merlin and Arthur. Biting her lip, she grimaced. “You could _die_ if you do not rest-”

“-I’m _fine_ Morgana.” He replied with a similar severity. His eyes flickered over to Gaius in concern. Swallowing-hard, he asked the question he had been dreading to ask. “How long does he have?” the word long was outstretched over a severe lump in his throat, giving it a hollow but heavy texture.

“Five days at the most. But he is fading away quickly.” Gaius explained, his voice calm and steady and Arthur wondered how the hell he was managing to endure all of this.

“Then it is settled.” Adjusting himself on the saddle, Arthur lifted his head boldly. He spared a glance for Hunith who was watching him proudly, as if he were her own. Then he acknowledged the Clan leaders. “Aithusa and I will go the Crystal Cave.”

“We will not depart home until you return Once and Future, all of Albion is on your side.” Ryol declared. Topia beside him nodded in agreement. Touched by the words, Arthur felt a fond smile spread over his face. The Saerion clan leader walked forwards, bowing her head to the Dragon and Arthur.

“Good luck, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur cast them all a final glance. His eyes settled on a writhing Merlin; his composure faltered. Swiftly he and Aithusa majestically rose into the air. They swirled around the settlement of Iaonem dramatically before spiraling into the sky. The white beast and her legendary rider faded into the cerulean sky, her white wings hypnotically flapping back and forth against the wind. Then they had vanished from the horizon completely. Yet many eyes rested upon the sky, hoping soon that the White Dragon and her rider would return and save the Young Emrys. Gazing up into the sky, Kilgarrah’s eyes gleamed with mirth. Then he turned to the young Emrys, tossing and turning on the stone they had compiled into a makeshift bed. He stalked towards the people hovering over him. With a loud grunt, he maneuvered them away from Merlin, all but Gwen and Gaius, allowing space for him to sit beside the Druid.

 _Do not fear young warlock._ He thought. _Whether we meet again in this life or the next, you should know that you have outdone your destiny. The battle is won; Uther’s men have retreated. Albion is safe from harm. The Once and Future rides upon the White Dragon. But if you wish to see him again, you must stop fighting. You must rest._

Leaning down, the Dragon breathed out. From his mouth spewed a strange mixture of sparkling particles. They were fantastical colours of sapphire, emerald and ruby, all mixing with the air around. Immediately, the thrashing Druid on the bed stilled. His breathing became lighter, far more relaxed than before. Eyes wide, Gwen pressed the cloth closer to Merlin’s forehead, only to find that it wasn’t burning anymore. Smiling in disbelief, she addressed the Dragon.

“He’s… _healing.”_ The Dragon’s words subdued her, peeling away her optimism until all that was left was a dark fear.

“I’m afraid not.” Meeting Gaius’ eyes, Kilgarrah continued. “I have merely slowed the poison. This is dark and powerful magic. Only magic of equal power can reverse this curse.”

**♦☼♦**

Evening came quickly to Iaonem, the night having latched onto the rays of the sun and plunging it downwards far more hastily than necessary. The Elders took this as a sign that Emrys was fading; Gwaine thought this was a pile of shit. How a race so smart and enigmatic could determine the fate of a person based on the setting of the sun truly perplexed him. Nonetheless, it was not his place to remark or snap back. After all, these were the Elders, and he wasn’t _supposed_ to be eavesdropping on their meeting anyway. He slipped away from them, into the night.

Upon arriving back to Ianoem with the survivors, the reunion with those who had taken refuge at Iaonam was far more traumatic than he could have ever predicted. So _many_ had fallen at Breguoin, so many innocent lives had been taken. Every soul in Albion knew their freedom had been won. The darkest days were now behind them! They could rebuild their clans without danger. They had won the war – yet this was no time to celebrate. This was a solemn day where families were divided, children were orphaned, friends were disconsolate.

This day was full of death, sacrifice. Iaonem was quiet, far too quiet. Word of Merlin’s looming demise had spread across the settlement, and the departure of the Once and Future declared that his condition was severe. Few Druids came to visit the area he was resting, in respect and reverence. Gwaine shooed most of them away as Gaius had requested, especially the ones who had bought with them offerings, as if he was already dead. It became too much, hence Gwaine had resorted to wallowing through the settlement alone.

Reaching the large clearing, he gaped at the sight. The Clan leaders had gathered large collections of oak and elm into the centre of Iaonem. The pile had been a mere handful an hour ago when he had wandered off and tried to continue his mischief in grim solitude. Now, however, the pile was large enough to roast a _Dragon,_ possibly two! Beautiful garlands of flowers blossomed the wood, giving the mass a holy presence.

All the Druids huddled around it, some tossing in precious belongings that had belonged to their loved ones. Some of the orphaned children were weeping, the sound muffled by their guardian’s clothes. Gwaine then spotted Morgana, Gwen, Leon and Lancelot by one side of the pile of wood. He walked towards them slowly; his eyes stung a little as he watched. Gwen and Lance were standing close, hands entwined together. Her eyes were puffy and reddened, face burrowed into the man’s chest as she allowed fatigue, fear and shock of today’s events to rush over her. He heard the name Will slip from her lips. Lancelot gently cradled her head with a hand, distressed by her upset. Will and Gwen had been great friends for many years. If Gwaine recalled the story correctly, Gwen had once been a Druidian, and had valiantly rescued the man from Camelot Forces. The bond she had with Merlin and Will was familial and strong. He had watched the three of them parade around as if they were siblings by blood. Now one of her brothers was dead, the other on the verge of death.

It was so terrible that Gwaine compellingly reached forwards and pressed a hand comfortingly to her shoulder. He gazed up at Lancelot, whose eyes were locked on the towering wood in front of them. Not too far to their left, Morgana and Leon were standing like statues together. They, to his surprise, were not holding hands. They stood beside each other in military fashion, as if nothing more than propriety had ordered them to do so. Gwaine made note to ask about this oddity later. But now was no time for that. It was a time of sorrow, of great sadness and mourning.

It was time to pay homage to those who had given their lives for freedom.

The Clan leaders took a step forwards, towards the giant pyre of wood. From the great Dresdentian Clan was the aged, stern-faced woman with short hair (Allois) and her bearded husband (Laurys). The middle-aged Laísrean and his nephew Nolwenn stood beside them. Merlin had said the Œpontei were rumoured to be brilliant fighters, and the clan had proved it today on the battlefield. The young Prince of Balegkor, Rægan stood with his mother Ysěult. Fair and radiant Keita clasped the young man’s arm tightly, relieved he had returned yet distressed by the significant losses. Then of course there was Topia of Saerion and a dozen other leaders. The two that caught Gwaine’s eye, however, almost seemed to blend seamlessly in with the crowd. Lady Evanna was dressed in a simple yet striking crimson gown. She stood beside her husband Elätha. Everybody had heard of the great duel between Arthur and Elätha during the gathering of the clans, it was a story of excitement and adventure.

Evanna clasped Hunith’s fragile hand on the other side of her. Hunith looked less like a leader, more like a shadow of the woman she had once been. The true leader of Ealdor was her son, and Arthur Pendragon. But neither was here, meaning she had to take their place on their behalf. Poor Hunith was clearly overwhelmed by the events of the past few months, especially the fact that her son was currently engulfed dark sickness. Lady Evanna was kind and compassionate. Young Hogań had told Gwaine all about the prosperous and wonderful life the Druids led in the mountains of Ghedent. Their traditions were staggeringly different to Ealdor. Then again, every clan seemed to be completely distinctive in their own way.

The thought of Hogań cast Gwaine into a dismal silence, his eyes watery. He was so young, so full of life. He had so much promise, skilled at magic, at fighting, and leading. He would have been a great Wyvern Rider, among the best. Gwaine wanted nothing more than to ruffle a hand affectionately through his hair, punch him in the arm brotherly, or play a stupid prank on the Elders with him. A small smile touched his lips. It didn’t last long. A heavy, thick atmosphere enveloped the settlement. Out of the silence, Elätha spoke.

“Fellow Druids, tonight we are gathered here to mark the beginning of the end,” His voice had a sincere tone to it, encapsulating all with its melodious sound. “Tonight a great evil has been purged from this land. For seven months, Albion has been cast into darkness. Camelot has destroyed our homes, torn us from our sacred Cave, murdered innocent lives. Now Albion is free, _we_ are free.” Pause. “But freedom has proven to have a great cost. Many have paid the highest price.” Gwaine bowed his head at the words, clamping his eyes shut. “So that we may stand here on this night and breathe the Albanian air, many have fallen. Many have fallen so that our children may see a new age, the age of peace and prosperity. Tonight, we offer not our condolences, nor our commiserations.” Lifting his head, Gwaine gazed over to the leader curiously. “Tonight we pay our respects to the unsung heroes of this battle. Tonight we give them our gratitude and our hearts. Tonight, we will remember.”

At these words, the Clan leaders outstretched their hands. Elätha, unable to do magic for reasons Gwaine had never fathomed, held out a flame torch. It fell onto the wood. The wood crackled beneath it, releasing a series of timid embers that grew into a mighty flame. As the leaders muttered spells, flames of all vibrant colours lit up the large pyre. Some flames were a verdant as the Ealden trees, some as red as the blood shed at Breguoin; some were as enigmatic as the Crystal Cave, others as bold as the Once and Future. The Druids around watched in awe. Then they began to sing a song. It was not a sad, melancholic song, but a song of freedom, remembrance and love.

Þes dæg, Þes dæg

Edníwe dæg,

Collenferð deor breostcofa

ætsteppan freódóm

écelice gemang æfensteorran

 

Þes dæg, Þes dæg

Edníwe dæg,

Restan eain rodor arlie

Engelies ghant ain Þes dæg!

écelice gemang siastraie

Þes dæg, Þes dæg

Edníwe dæg,

As the song ended, Calhoun rushed over to Gwen and Lancelot. The youngster outstretched his hand to reveal a tiny flame dragon. Smiling fondly, Gwen blew over his palm and the Dragon took flight into the air. The fire dragon swirled around the pair magnificently before plunging into the fire. It was _magical._ Suddenly, all around Gwaine saw beautiful creatures made of fire! There were butterflies of blue flame, lions that fizzled and crunched against the wood. Each tiny little creature was singing the song, muttering the same wonderful phrase over and over again against the gentle breeze.

Þes dæg, Þes dæg

Edníwe dæg!

The pyre was not _just_ a bonfire. It was a magical bonfire. Dancing around delicately were the creatures forged of flame, they weaved in and out of the flames. Their elegant moves were inspiring and radiant against the darkness. The amber flames of the pyre created a contrast against the tiny fire figurines that had come to life with magic. Morgana’s eyes flashed gold, a silvery, miniscule wolf the size of her hand dashed towards the flames. As it did, small beads of sparkling dust were left behind, coiling with the air before slowly dissolving away. Gwen and the others smiled at the gesture. Leon was delighted and pleaded for her to do it again. This time two wolves appeared and made note to run over Leon’s curly hair before going to the fire. Leon, Lance, Gwen and Gwaine watched in admiration as the Druids released beautiful, stunning magic into the sky. It was a contrast against the dark starry sky, adding an ethereal feel to the land. 

Then something _truly_ extraordinary happened.

The creatures of all of Albion were set into motion. Throughout the Albion forests, one could hear the howling of the Ræ, the strident roar of the Chimera beasts, the whispering of the magical faeries. And then the creatures of Albion all appeared to be caught in this memorial, for they all came to Iaonem swiftly. Creatures that Gwaine had never thought _existed_ emerged from the trees! The Wyverns of Mánhús swept over the Iaonem skies. The Druids gazed up in awe as tamed Wyverns took to the skies and danced beside the wild creatures of the mountain. Next came the wondrous Griffins; half eagle, half lion. They soared over the Wyverns, before flying perilously close to the Druids’ heads. Many Druids ducked in shocked, others relishing in the sensation of a fierce velocity over their head. Gwaine was the latter, gazing wide-eyed up at the creatures that shone with the amber firelight on one side but were silhouetted by the silvery moon on the other. The image was disorientating at first, and then absolutely _amazing_ once the eyes focused in.

Then from the land, spewing out of the forests were dozens of Unicorns. Leon almost lost his footing as the sight, beginning to recite Ivor Klandis about how _rare_ it was to see just _one_ Unicorn in Albion. The pure, untainted creatures trotted around Iaonem. Shortly following were the Chimeras, ferocious, _man-eating_ creatures. To see Unicorns and Chimeras in harmony – such a thing had not been seen for thousands of years. Elätha rushed over to Lancelot and Gwaine, eyes full of vigour and passion.

“Albion herself is paying tribute!” he remarked in fascination, watching as the magical, usually unseen creatures danced between Druids, danced between each other. And then the Druids released their magical flames again, and the fire-beasts began to prance around Iaonem like faeries. Gwen clasped Lancelot’s hand tightly, a sad smile on her face as she watched the scene. Morgana beside her was overcome with astonishment, and Gwaine wished Arthur could have seen her face because right now she was honestly _speechless –_ that had to be a first.

Then from the flames sprouted a magnificent creature. At the sight, everybody gawked, unable to contain their surprise and amazement. The Druids ceased their spells. Iaonem was silent. The creature was a large eagle-like bird, only far greater and benevolent. The crown of its golden head was burning with golden fire, as were the tips of its humungous wings. The bottoms of the bird’s wings were vivid green, purple, turquoise and silver. The rest of its body was golden and regal, aside from a lining of crimson feathers across the tips of its wings. It was a phoenix, a spectacular one at that. It was consumed in the flames of the pyre, and yet it was sitting there on top of the wood magnificently as if it were not so.

Then the creatures were gone. They flew across the sacred land, disappearing back into the hidden places they had come from. The great flames of the pyre disintegrated as the firebird shed its feathers and gently shriveled back into the wood. All that remained of it were the gentle embers on the ashen, charred wood. With that, many of the Druids dispersed to retire for the evening. Few remained beside the final flickers of the burning wood. It had dwindled into a tiny fire now, enough to house light for a handful. Morgana, Lance, Leon, Gwaine, Topia and Elätha sat by the fireside.

Hunith had joined them for a few moments, but had left anxiously with Gwen to assist Gaius with Merlin (although there was not much they could do anymore other than watch him helplessly). Despite everyone insisting to help, Gaius had ordered that only two at a time could come and visit. Merlin needed to rest as much as he could and could not be overwhelmed by friends who may believe it was goodbye. The friends sat quietly, all thinking of Arthur and Merlin. Morgana seemed to be more pensive than the rest, eyes frosted over with a hazy mist.

“I wish there was something we could do for him.” Leon admitted with a crestfallen sigh, gazing over to the direction where a soft flicker of flame revealed Gaius’ shadow hovering over Merlin.

“We cannot let Arthur’s quest be in vain.” Gwaine replied sternly, surprising them. “Tomorrow, we strip down Uther’s gun, assess the remaining bullets. Gaius said it was no ordinary weapon. We should find out whatever we can about it, test it with,” he gestured over to those in the circle who could do magic “spells-”

“-That could be extremely dangerous.” Topia said calculatedly. “And I highly doubt the Elders would permit it-”

“-If it would help saveMerlin surely they would,” the rugged man spat back, before snarling. “And who _cares_ what the bloody _Elders_ say! To hell with them and their wisdom-”

“- _Gwaine!”_ Leon gasped at the blasphemy towards the sacred Druids of Ealdor. The man beside him grinned, shrugging casually as if unfazed.

“They believe hope is already lost,” Morgana whispered distantly, eyes still vacant and unfocused. It was as if she were addressing somebody who was not really here. “They will not risk the lives of more people to dissemble a dark weapon.”

“Well we’ll do it where it can’t hurt anybody then.” Stubbornly, Gwaine gazed over to the raven-haired woman who made no move to communicate with them. Leon, a little concerned, placed a hand upon her shoulder. He instantly removed it as she turned to his direction warningly. Gwaine was still talking whilst this happened. “…go to the ruins of Iaonam. Nobody will venture out there. We’ll crack it open with magic and then perhaps we’ll be able to figure out what’s happening to him.”

“It will take _days_ to open that gun.” Topia admitted with a bitter tone. “By that time it may be no use at all to us.” The implications of her words angered Gwaine. He stood up gruffly and glared at the woman.

“It’s still worth a shot! No chance or not! Arthur was right, we can’t just give up.” His anger melted into determination. “Today, despite the odds, we _won_ the battle of Breguoin! Things that may seem impossible are no longer impossible at all. Merlin has given _everything_ to protect the people of Albion. He would do _anything_ for this land. We all _owe him._ But more than that, he’s our friend.”

There was a silence and Topia turned to the seer imploringly. Gwaine gradually sat back down, hoping he had inspired them to listen and act upon his words.

“Do you know if the great Warlock will live?” she asked in a hushed voice.

Morgana turned to the woman silently. She swallowed-hard as the others devoted their attention towards her. For a moment she didn’t speak, her misty eyes slowly becoming natural and visible again. A small smile slipped over her face, the soothing voice swept into their ears.

“I cannot see this pathway,” something in her voice unsettled Gwaine a little. Nonetheless he brushed it off and listened intently.  “This is beyond my powers, it is in the hands of Destiny now.”

Grimacing, Gwaine got to his feet.

“I’m going to Iaonam tomorrow, with the gun.”

“How will you open the gun? You don’t have magic.” Topia observed, although it was clear by the twinkle in her eyes that she would indeed be greeting Gwaine by the tunnel ruins tomorrow morning. Not replying, he simply shot her a crooked smile, eyebrows raised as if she had answered her own question. Averting her eyes, the clan leader felt her lips upturn. With that, Gwaine left his friends around the fire, making haste to Merlin’s side. Although Merlin probably wouldn’t be able to hear him, he needed the man to know. Arthur _was_ going to save him,and they were going to help as best they could.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur and Aithusa landed on the charred, blackened plain that once was the home to a wonderful people. All colour had drained from the scene. The deterioration of life had begun miles away from Ealdor. First the trees begun to shrink from a proud size to small stubs in the ground. Then the vibrant shades of green got paler and paler until they were ashen and grey. The sounds of birds, of _anything_ had vanished into oblivion. As the Dragon landed, white particles of ash and dust were flung into the air, disturbing the stagnant landscape for a second. The smell was pungent and caused Arthur to cough violently as it entered his lungs. It smelt of burning, of death, of destruction. He covered his mouth, attempting to regulate his breathing again. His coughed subsided. Opening his eyes, he gazed out at the expansive of desecrated earth.

There were deep slashes into the ground, filled with ash and bodies that had not yet fully decomposed. The remains of trees stood like splinters, jagged and sharply poking in odd angles. Where the ground wasn’t white, it was black. The ash and dust consumed the air too, giving the whole scene a jarring mist. There was no noise, not one sound. There was nothing living left here, nothing of this earth. For miles and miles where the beautiful forest of Ealdor once stood were stumps, fallen tree trunks, broken homes and habitats. Arthur dismounted Aithusa slowly, unable to swallow the sob in his throat. He had assumed coming back to the ruins would be an easy feat. It was not. Now he was here the dark, violent memories cascaded into him. The piercing screams of Druids falling as missiles plummeted down upon the settlement, the cries of children lost in the smoke, the sound of those mighty rocks grinding down to rubble. Whimpering, he bit his hand, attempting to muffle his cries. The fall of the Crystal Cave, the magical weeping…he could feel his own magic wrenching inside, unable to accept that they had come here of all places again.

Ealdor had once been here. A beautiful collection of Druids, at one with the earth. They had been sadistically stripped from their sacred home. Bleakly, Arthur stared out at the endless plain of devastation. It here he had crawled over to Merlin’s side in the aftermath, when the buzzing of machinery had faded into the distance. It was here that Balinor had met his end. He remembered Merlin’s words, the way they had been delivered with pain and heartbreak. _If you come near my people again, I will kill you._ It was here, in the ruins of Ealdor that Arthur had sat. He had been driven mad with guilt, consumed by it until all he could do was laugh and laugh and _laugh._ It was all gone, _all gone._ They had blown up the Crystal Cave. Arthur didn’t realise he was on his knees, weeping at the memories of this traumatic day until Aithusa’s wing nudged against his side.

_You must not blame yourself for this Arthur Pendragon. It was your father’s choice to attack Ealdor, not yours._

Lifting his head from his hands, Arthur felt his body trembling violently. His breathing was uneven and unsteady. Being here was too much to handle, he had tried to stay strong for Merlin’s sake, but hell he could not. This place reeked of death and destruction, massacre. Gazing up dejectedly, Arthur swallowed down a cry.

“I knew from the day we arrived in Albion, that this would be the fate of Ealdor,” His voice diminished into a bitter hiss as he buried his head once more. “Yet I did nothing.”

Sadly, the White Dragon stared down at the blonde man beside her.

_And there was nothing you could have done, young one. Some things are foretold, some things can be unchanged no matter how much you try to alter its destiny._

Then her face was beside his, nose gently nuzzling into his hair. The blonde locks fanned in and out as she did so. Arthur felt her breath on his head, and gradually lifted his head. Her sapphire eyes met his boldly, and weakly he found himself smiling at her. It was not a happy smile, far from it. It was shimmering with tears, drenched in self-loathing and the guilt he thought he had finally cast aside before the great battle. Aithusa did not move her scaly head from his. As she spoke aloud he felt the low hum of her voice vibrating against his body soothingly.

“Arfuera, you must endure. Without you, Merlin _will_ fall.” Her voice invigorated a newfound spark within him. She was right of course. Whatever pain of suffering he had for this place, he would have to set it aside. Merlin was dying, and this was his only chance of survival. Arthur got onto his quivering feet, gazing up at the White Dragon beside him. Silently, he thanked her for her words. She nodded knowingly, eyes fond and full of a soft glimmer. Taking a step forwards, Arthur’s eyes met the large pile of stones across the plain. The remnants of the Crystal Cave; it was here and only here they would find the flower. The ground beneath his feet squealed and shrieked as he walked, the wind screamed, the fading sun fizzled dramatically. Despite the efforts of this haunting land, Arthur did not fall prey to their tricks. He wiped his stinging eyes, marching resolutely through the rubble. Aithusa followed in pursuit, frowning at the wreckage left behind by Uther’s men many months ago.

They walked in silence, examining their surrounding dismally. Nightfall gradually descended upon them, making their path and location scarce. Part of Arthur was relieved, he didn’t have to absorb the destruction anymore, his eyes were blinding to everything but the narrow stream of light filtering out from the orb he had conjured. In the direction of Iaonem, there was a great commotion. Curious, Arthur and the Dragon turned to watch as the horizon behind them shone with orange embers. Then their eyes met the silhouettes of creatures flying around the air, the whole area of Iaonem bustling with life. Arthur gazed over to Aithusa, seeking an explanation for this strange collection of creatures.

_Albion is mourning, Albion is reminiscing. She is celebrating the future, and remembering the past._

Smiling gently, Arthur spared a final look at the horizon. It was a wondrous sight. Aithusa continued.

_This is very rare, for creatures and Druids to share in such a thing. It has not happened since the Naiimen age._

Arthur felt a little giddy thinking about what Iaonem must look like right now. It was an exhilarating thought: fire, mythological creatures, magic…oh if _Merlin_ was awake to see it. He could imagine the broad grin splitting the man’s face in two, the adorable crinkling of his eyes. The thought was enough to push him back towards his quest, away from Iaonem. He set off again to the East, Aithusa trudging behind. He was so engrossed in thoughts, in Merlin, that he lazily dismissed Aithusa’s trepid, vigilant footsteps. Then she abruptly came to a halt, eyes locked on the remains of the Cave ahead. Pausing, he turned round to her in concern. She cautiously gazed at him. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur reeled his floating orb back into his hands, eyes flashing silver as its light dimmed slightly.

“What is it?” he whispered.

Eyes darting around the ruins, Aithusa remained silent for a moment. Arthur no longer required an answer, for he heard the sound of something slithering across the ground, something moving in the near distance. Eyes wide, breath hitched he became motionless, paralysed with anxiety. His heart was racing. Ahead of them, guarding the pile of fallen rocks was a dark shadow. Arthur quickly put out his magical orb in fear it would divert attention to them. In the darkness they were unable to see what exactly this creature was. If Aithusa’s reaction was anything to go by, Arthur assumed it could not be good.

 _Aithusa…_ he thought warningly, voice low and trying to remain level.

 _Dark creatures have sought refuge here in the ruins of Ealdor,_ she explained grimly. _The darkest of all creatures has taken this plain to be his new home._

Swallowing-hard, disliking the words, Arthur reached for his sword. He began to tell himself positive things, like how this sword was now forged in the breath of _two_ Dragons so it was practically invincible. That still didn’t console him much. Instead he tried to list all the magical creatures he’d faced in Albion: rabid dogs, Chimeras, Manitcores, Wyverns…still. This failed to console him. Slowly, he pulled out his sword. He was afraid the slightest sound might leave them vulnerable. They were in the middle of a plain; Ealdor was no longer a forest. There was _nowhere_ to hide anymore. Clenching the sword tightly in his hands, he watched the large dark mass ahead move.

 _What dark creature?_ He asked the Dragon.

He wished she hadn’t answered. Honestly, it would have been better if he’d stalked forwards into battle without knowing what it was because now his limbs were trembling, his breath was ragged and his heart was beating so quickly he was sure he’d die pretty soon of heart failure and collapse. His hands became clammy, the grip on the sword loosening. Her answer rang through his mind, making the dark mass ahead even more menacing than it had already been.

_A Basilisk._

__

“Why is this happening?” Gwen gazed over to a motionless Merlin, evidently worried.

“Merlin possesses great magic,” Gaius replied. “This illness is affecting his magic. It is becoming increasingly unstable.” 

There was a brief stalemate. Then it mercilessly lunged towards Arthur. He managed to narrowly avoid a collision, sword scraping against the side of the creature’s face. As soon as that happened, there was another assault. Its speed was unmatched. Arthur didn’t have time to move out of the way or doge it. Eyes wide, Arthur stood paralysed. Its jaw was wide open, revealing the deadly cavern inside. The front fangs were almost as tall as Arthur himself. Overall the whole things screamed imminent death. He clamped his eyes shut, sword outstretched in front of him frantically. 

“Seer or not, I see it in your eyes you know,” her words confused him, the bite to her tone adding to this confusion. His body froze in its tracks, awaiting an elucidation. “You know what I speak of Gaius, after everything he’d done! You still cared for him.”

“We were friends for many years Morgana."

“S’My, s-s-s-s, S’ _my.”_ The Basilisk chimed; a slithery sound wrapped each booming syllable. “’S’The Once S’and Future s-s-s-s, and s’his Dragon,” it bowed its large head mockingly; low enough to meet Arthur at eye level. Arthur involuntarily trembled as their eyes met. His bravery dissolved. “It is-s-s-s-s a s’pleasure to meet you. S-s-s-s. I’ve heard _s-s-s-such_ s-s-s-spectacular things have happened during my hibernation…s-s-s-such a s-s-s-shame I missed all the bloodshed and des-s-struction-”

 “-There’s _s-s-still_ a bit more left to go actually, you're just in time." Arthur replied boldly, holding his sword out. Hell, he didn't know where the fuck this stupidity was coming from - taunting a Basilisk of all things! The creature seemed unamused by his slight mockery, but delighted by his implications. 

“How’s our magical friend here doing?” 

Gwen cast her eyes over to Gwaine, who was fumbling with his hands nervously. He examined Merlin’s chest as it rose and fall steadily with his breaths. His face was still swathed with a sickly colour. He looked pasty and yellowish in hue, unsettling Gwaine. 

“As good as he can be,” Gaius began clearing the workbench. “though I-”

“-Gaius! Gaius it’s happening again!” Gwen yelped suddenly, leaping onto her feet with urgency. Gwaine lunged forwards, trying to settle the unexpected change in Merlin’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Druid song:
> 
> Þes dæg, Þes dæg  
> Edníwe dæg,  
> Collenferð deor breostcofa  
> ætsteppan freódóm  
> écelice gemang æfensteorran
> 
> Þes dæg, Þes dæg  
> Edníwe dæg,  
> Restan eain rodor arlie  
> Engelies ghant ain Þes dæg!  
> écelice gemang siastraie
> 
> Þes dæg, Þes dæg  
> Edníwe dæg,
> 
> This day, this day  
> New day  
> Those bold, brave hearts  
> who awakened our freedom  
> Are everlasting among the stars
> 
> This day, this day  
> New day,  
> Rest in heaven heroes -  
> Angels are bringing us this day!  
> They are everlasting among the skyline
> 
> This day, this day  
> New day


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't quite finished the next chapter, but I'm going to be a little caught up with work anyway, so might as well put this one up :) 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Despite fatigue and exhaustion tempting them to fall into the world of dreams, Gwen, Gaius and Morgana remained alert beside Merlin. The scare, orange light conjured by magic entwined with the silver wisps of moonlight. It didn’t fail to conceal Merlin’s condition. The Druid was breathing irregularly, writhing and turning every few minutes. Soft mutterings escaped his mouth sporadically without warning and his eyes would flutter open to reveal they were golden. The last time this had happened, two minutes ago, he had unintentionally caused the small workbench to topple over and subsequently the contents within the wooden pestle leaked out across the ground. Gwen was currently mopping up this mess, a frown upon her face as she gathered the scattered ingredients Gaius had been preparing. It unnerved them all, these small bursts of magic, because Kilgarrah – who had mysteriously vanished – had specifically told them using magic would weaken him.

“Why is this happening?” she gazed over to a motionless Merlin, evidently worried.

“Merlin possesses great magic,” Gaius replied. “This illness is affecting his magic. It is becoming increasingly unstable.”

Neither Morgana nor Gwen responded to his words, unsure if prying for more information would leave them more subdued. Placing the pestle back upon the workbench, Gwen smoothed over the creases of her yellow dress before going back to Merlin’s side. It was late now; the people who had taken refuge in Iaonem were fast asleep. Aside from low mumblings of those who could not sleep, the settlement was peaceful and quiet. The creatures of Albion had returned to their dwellings, flinging the beautiful forests around them back into life. Nocturnal birds were whistling their ancient melodies into the sky; predators were stalking their prey. The sounds that hadn’t been heard for weeks had returned. It was fairly comforting. But it would have been more comforting if Merlin were at least conscious.

“Gaius you should rest,” Gwen supplied kindly, concern etched onto her face as she met his weary expression. “We can watch over Merlin until the morning.”

Clearly troubled by this notion, the old man furrowed his brow. Poor Hunith had _begged_ him to do all he could for Merlin. Gaius couldn’t help but feel responsible for Merlin and his welfare. He was not just a friend to him, but like a son; the son he had never had. Sighing, Gaius smiled at the woman insipidly.

“Let me administer this potion first.” He gestured to the pestle, continuing to grind a mixture of herbs and plant roots. For a few moments there was silence between the three of them. Clasping Merlin’s hand, Gwen muttered soft words to him. Then Gaius’ voice brought summoned her attention.

“It is truly amazing that you managed to get the people out of Iaonam safely,” he admitted. “We all feared the worst when we heard the explosion.”

Gaius would have been lying if he said he wasn’t remorseful for Uther Pendragon. The man had jumped to his own death swiftly, refusing to negotiate or co-operate with Arthur. He felt regret and a twinge of sadness at the prospect, not that Gaius would openly reveal this. For why _should_ he mourn the man who had tossed him into the laboratory? The memories of the lab still plagued him sometimes, coming in violent stabs throughout the night. He managed to keep the turmoil at bay, because there were other people who required his help. Yes, he was now an old man. Once upon a time he had seen much of the world, he’d had many adventures of his own. He knew nobody would believe him if he dared recite some of his personal recollections. A rare smile slipped over his face as he poured the ground herbs into a vial.

The smile faded as his mind wandered from Uther Pendragon and towards his accomplice. The Clan Leaders had not hesitated to declare victory when they had returned. They had explained the outcome of the battle to those who had stayed behind. Whilst Uther Pendragon was mentioned, there was one rather prolific character who had _not_ been mentioned at all. It baffled Gaius because throughout the days he had spent in Camelot Enterprise, there was one person potentially _more_ dangerous than Uther himself. For it had been Morgause who had exposed Gaius as a Druid to Uther, it had been her who had unveiled Albion. She had betrayed her own kind for reasons Gaius didn’t understand. Part of him didn’t want to, another part of him held a fear that these reasons needed to be uncovered.

“What ever did happen to Morgause I wonder…” Gaius mused, more to himself than to the two women monitoring Merlin. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of them visibly flinch, the other feign composure as she continued to dab Merlin’s forehead with a damp cloth. The reactions he had evoked intrigued him greatly.

“M- it was _her_ who led the assault on Iaonam.” Gwen replied, a newfound anger in her eyes. “She led them to us. But we never saw, not even when we escaped. Morgana said…” she abruptly closed her mouth and spared Morgana a soft glance. The woman beside her swallowed-hard, not mustering composure to speak or contribute to the conversation. Gaius had stopped his work on the bench. Now he was solely interested in the pair. Morgause had gone to _Iaonam,_ not Breguoin. Why on earth she would devote her time to somewhere other than the battlefield truly bewildered him. Morgause would have been a strong ally for Uther among the plain. Narrowing his eyes, he frowned. Gwen went back to dabbing Merlin’s forehead, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Morgana’s interest in the ground seemed to have intensified for it was all she could focus on.

“Gwen, could you fetch some more water?” Calculatingly, Gwen’s eyes flickered between Morgana and the old physician. She said nothing on the matter aloud, for it was clear whatever Gaius wanted to speak to Morgana about, it was a private matter. Gwen was never one to pry. Obediently, she took leave from Merlin’s side, hauling the wooden bucket into her hands. With one swift nod and silent smile, she trailed out of the small area, past the wall of grey stones and towards the gentle, trickling river not far from Iaonem.

When certain, she was gone, Gaius raised one eyebrow and turned his attention towards the raven-haired woman. There was a curious expression on Morgana’s face, not at all conspicuous to those who were unsure what they were searching for. But Gaius had known this woman all her life. There was _nothing_ she could hide from him - even if she may try to or believe she had successfully done so. He walked towards the motionless woman, assured Merlin’s condition was stable. Placing a hand upon her shoulder, he lowered his head accentuating the gesture of his raised eyebrow. Morgana’s lower lip trembled, her eyes watery and wide. She quickly attempted to dismiss the turmoil inside, holding her head higher and meeting Gaius’ eyes with that intensity she was renowned for.

“I saw her in the cave. I-“ she hesitated, eyes wild and wide. “She was going to kill them _all_ Gaius!” her ferocity faltered at the memory. “I tried to stop her but it was _no good._ I had to do _something_ I- _”_ Abruptly tears streamed from her eyes as she fell into the old man’s embrace. Gaius patted her back comfortingly, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. Morgana had been through much the past few months. Discovering the extent of her magic had taken its toll; she had been gifted with special powers that she could not yet control. Releasing the woman, he met her eyes imploringly.

“Iaonem was destroyed, how did you make it out past her?”

The question triggered raw panic. The woman in front of him wavered on her feet, her composure crumbling. Suddenly, she resembled the small, frightened girl from Camelot all those years ago. On impulse, Gaius extended a hand to steady her balance. The woman latched onto him frantically, breathe ragged and unsteady. She struggled against him, uncertain whether he offered comfort. They remained like this for a few more moments. Then she inhaled a final wiry breath and refrained from her agitated movements.

“Morgana,” Gaius soothingly said. “what happened?”

“I didn’t _mean to.”_ The raven-haired woman whispered, trepidation rife in her eyes. “It just _came out_ and I couldn’t stop it.” Pause. Teeth gritted, expression solemn, Morgana grimaced. “I…I…” blinking back tears, she clamped her eyes shut. “Morgause is dead.”

A thick silence spread between them. Gaius gazed over at the woman, stunned by the confession. Morgana bit her lip, choking on a sob that was wedged viciously in her throat. Paternally, he placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her into a reassuring embrace. Her eyes opened slowly, beads of water falling from the corners and down her pallid complexion. Pulling back to engage eye contact, Gaius smiled faintly. Morgana returned the sentiment, a laugh gesturing embarrassment at her state sounded. Wiping her eyes, her smile grew as she studied her old friend. He had always been there for her and Arthur. When they were children, he had looked after them for most of the day. At night, he had tucked them into their beds. She was positive he had caught sight of her smuggling clandestine books into Arthur’s room many times. He had never said anything, but there had always been a peculiar twinkle in his eyes the next day.

“You did the right thing Morgana,” Gaius whispered. “Morgause threatened the lives of thousands, you were brave to make a stand. You were not to know how your magic would react against her threats. You have just begun to understand magic, do not blame yourself for its actions.” 

Nodding silently at the words, trying to believe them, Morgana brushed away the final tears. He had a point. Curiously, she studied the man before her. She had not been blind to his reserved character of late, even though it seemed everybody else was. Her usual vibrancy and energy returned rapidly.

“Seer or not, I see it in your eyes you know,” her words confused him, the bite to her tone adding to this confusion. His body froze in its tracks, awaiting an elucidation. “You know what I speak of Gaius, after everything he’d done! You still cared for him.”

“We were friends for many years Morgana-” Thirty-six to be exact.

“-I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she replied, now _furious_ at his admission. “Have you forgotten what he did to you Gaius?! He threw you into the _labs!_ Clearly your friendship meant _nothing_ to him-”

“-I knew the consequences of staying in Camelot, it was my own mistake.” Gaius snapped back with a ferocity Morgana had not seen him wield before. His voice softened. “If you had seen what I have seen, understood the depth of suffering he endured, then perhaps you would not be so quick to condemn.”

Snarling, Morgana narrowed her eyes at the concept.

“He was a _monster_.” Her tone became more vicious, darkness seeping into her eyes. “Just because he suffered grievances, it doesn’t excuse his crimes! He has _murdered,_ he has destroyed Ealdor _your home!_ He led an attack on the Crystal Cave and tried to destroy the whole of Albion out of greed and spite.” A foreign hatred bled into her eyes. “I hope the next life strips him of redemption, and offers only perdition. I hope his soul suffers immeasurable pain and the weight of all those he has destroyed drags him down the depths of hell-”

Startled by the outpouring, Gaius attempted to pacify the insatiable rage and passion overpowering her. There was a glint in her eyes, bordering madness.

“That is no way to talk about the dead,” he replied wisely. “No matter who they are.”

“ _Gaius-!”_ Morgana shrieked, anger flaring up in her eyes, sparking a stronger resilience.

“-The difference between Good and Evil is not always black and white.” He responded. “I can never forgive what he has done to the People of Albion. But there once was a time where Uther Pendragon was kind, generous and fair.” Drawing her eyebrows together, the woman ceased her retaliation. She listened to his words, standing rigidly. “Over the years, it _pained_ me to see him change, for there was nothing I could do to stop Destiny’s plan. People _do_ change Morgana,” he gazed over at her. She was unable to sustain the gaze, her body shuddering and heart racing. “some change for better and some for worse.” 

Promptly, Gwen returned back with water. The bucket of water was no longer a concern; she slammed it down on the ground and glanced between the two figures. The atmosphere was dusted with a frost, chilling her spine. Something here was amiss, a strange aura between the pair. Gaius acknowledged Gwen’s presence, breaking the stalemate.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, reaching for the bucket. “Excellent-”

“-Is everything alright?” she questioned warily, unable to contain the inquisitiveness bubbling up inside of her.

Averting the woman’s gaze, Morgana’s eyes met the ground.

“Not to worry Gwen.” Gaius picked up the bucket of water and dipped the vial into it.

“Everything is fine.” Morgana concluded with a cheery smile that oozed false joy. It was almost sickening to watch. With that, Morgana bowed her head and left the clearing brusquely.

And that was all that was said on the subject of Morgause, and of Uther Pendragon for the night. Gwen did not query Morgana’s exit, taking the vial from Gaius and administering it as he instructed.

**♦☼♦**

Arthur had to slap a hand to his mouth in order to silence his dramatic gasp. Eyes wide, legs trembling, he found his eyes were locked on the dark mass before him. Now she had said it, _yes_ he could see. The mass wasn’t moving like any creature they’d encountered before. It was slithering, sliding across the burnt land with its large, scaly body. From this distance, it was difficult to make out the size of the beast, aside from the fact that it rivalled Aithusa in size. Swallowing-hard, he clenched his sword fiercely. It didn’t make him feel any more comforted. A _basilisk._ Out of all the magical creatures in the world, it _just had_ to be the freaking basilisk didn’t it?! That pesky snake mentioned in Harry Potter that had kept him awake for endless nights. It had to be that stupid, oversized snake that he’d irrationally feared would be lurking under his bed as a child.

The Dragon behind him remained motionless also, clearly a little fazed herself by the appearance of such a creature. This discomforted Arthur greatly because if _she_ was scared of the giant serpent, then Arthur definitely stood no chance. For a moment the pair stood silent, watching the dark mass ahead in the shadows, praying it hadn’t noticed them or heard them walking around the plain freely. Now they were both quiet, and intent on listening, Arthur could hear it. He heard the hypnotic hissing, the terrifying dexterity and force of the creature becoming fully exposed the longer they stood. They couldn’t exactly walk away now, of course. That would be silly. The creature would see them and try to catch them, maybe it _would_ catch them and hold them in a vice-grip like Arthur had seen a king cobra do on the Animal Planet archives once. It made him shudder. They couldn’t _fly away_ either, because the key to Merlin’s survival lay right beside that dastardly creature! They weren’t even _certain_ there would be a flower there to find.

All of this meant one thing; they were going to have to face the Basilisk, one way or another. Trying to compose himself, regain focus on the task at hand, Arthur spared a glance over his shoulder. He quickly threw his gaze forwards again; fearful the Basilisk had spotted them. It hadn’t. It was still slithering around in the near distance, entertaining itself. Arthur dreaded to know what it was doing, but the crunching and snapping of bones was enough to go by to know it wasn’t pleasant. Too afraid to speak aloud, he spoke in his mind to the White Dragon beside him. He hoped the creature didn’t possess powers of telepathy, or else they’d _really_ be in trouble.

 _What are we supposed to do now?_ Irritation was overpowered by his imminent alarm. _Merlin has days left. It may well take days to look in the ruins itself. We can’t do that whilst there is a…_ pausing, Arthur found himself unable to speak the dark name. He felt himself shudder. … _That thing guarding the sealed entrance to the ruins protectively!_

 _Basilisks are known for their acute speed and potency._ Her words weren’t making him feel better about the situation at all. _They have been known to outrun the fastest of Chimeras, to leap as high as the trees themselves and pluck out Wyverns like squirrels._ Arthur gritted his teeth unwillingly, believing it to be the only way to stop them from clanging together and making unnecessary noise. This whole speech about their strength and power made his stomach lurch slightly. He didn’t reply, a little caught up in shock to respond even in his mind. His eyes were still latched onto the sight in front. Part of him was slightly relieved to find that it was no longer moving around; it appeared to be resting. Aithusa’s tone suddenly became enlightened. It broke his attention from the beast before them.

 _You!_ She cried with a relieved sigh. _You are tiny, barely larger than it’s eyes. You could sneak past it-_

Shocked more by the concept that it’s eyes were as big as _him_ than the proposition itself, Arthur’s eyes widened. An involuntary shudder passed through his spine. He had to bite his lip viciously to avoid the words of avid protest spilling out of his mouth.

- _What?!_ He spluttered, indignant and horrified.

 _The creature only lies outside the ruins, not within them. Once you are in, you will be able to search the ruins. The Basilisk has just fed and is resting itself; it won’t be too difficult to slip past it._ Despite her convincing case, Arthur really wasn’t buying it. His hands were so sweaty he was afraid his sword would slip out of his hands. He gripped it tighter, using it to balance himself in this crazy situation. How on _earth_ was he supposed to just _slip past_ a creature like that?! He had never managed to master Merlin’s agility in such things, though this skill and an appropriate spell _would_ come in handy right now.

 _Can’t you just breathe fire on it until combusts?_ He asked rather rudely, raking a hand through his blonde hair.

Aithusa’s reply was curt, revealing she had taken offense to his words. She snorted lightly.

_Basilisks adore fire. Why do you think it had chosen to settle here of all places?_

Of course the bloody Basilisk liked fire, Arthur thought to himself crossly. For a moment he remained silently, stewing over her words. His eyes flickered between the dark mass ahead, his sword and Aithusa. It seemed then, that there really _was_ no other way of dealing with this matter other than with tact and grace Arthur was frightened he didn’t have. He’d have to creep quietly, take each step like a timid mouse stalking towards a giant cat – _no._ Abruptly he sighed.He wasn’t honestly thinking about going through with this _was_ he? Oh but he was, because hell there was nothing he wouldn’t do when it concerned Merlin. It just so happened that this did concern Merlin, totally. In fact, Merlin’s _life_ depended on him getting to those ruins. That was enough incentive for him to sign away his sanity. Rolling his eyes with resignation, he gazed up at the Dragon.

_You are certain that if I approach it quietly and walk around it, I’ll reach the ruins of the Cave?_

His mind-voice faltered him, revealing his own anxiety through the resolution to fight for Merlin. Averting her sapphire eyes, Aithusa gazed over to the ground.

 _I never said I was certain._ She tilted her head as if contemplating the words. _In fact I am more uncertain than certain._

She didn’t seem to realise she had said the completely wrong thing. Gawking at the Dragon, Arthur felt his heartbeat increase. At first he tried to shrug off what she was saying, believing she was joking. Dragons could be genuinely funny, very rarely though… their humour was more often on one end of the spectrum: incredibly crude or puzzlingly subtle. Arthur was _certain_ that her words fitted neither category. As he stared at the Dragon, his complexion paled, his eyes lost their vibrancy. She appeared to have finally noticed that he really didn’t appreciate her honesty of all things right now. Frowning, she nudged him gently with one of her great wings. The affectionate gesture shoved him forwards a little.

_Don’t fret, you are the Once and Future-_

_-I can’t help but feel that you’re using my prophesised name to try and comfort me, rather than offer me the dark reality._ He admitted brusquely, clutching his sword tighter in his hands.

 _Maybe I am._ She whispered back into his mind musingly. _But I do believe in you, and I know that a giant snake is hardly the worst of what you have faced in Albion._

Arthur reconciled himself with the memories he’d made in Albion. From day one, he’d been spat out of peace and cast into the wild, raging world. He’d escaped imminent death from a Bastet, outrun a _Chimera_ with Merlin on their second meeting, tamed Wyverns, escaped the clutches of a haunted Manticore, harassed Wildrens, outsmarted the Orthenu. He’d met the Faerie Princess, consorted with the most graceful and beautiful creatures. He had _also_ held his ground against a Dragon on the top of a hill in a ferocious storm when all odds were against him. A reminiscent smile touched his lips at the memories. It faded. It hadn’t all been narrow getaways and fun games. He’d seen whole settlements destroyed, a civilisation bought to their knees as their sacred place crumbled. He’d seen bloodshed, _death._ He’d seen grief beyond anything he had ever known. Yet – he had seen these great people fight against their oppressors, and _win._ The prospect gave him hope.

  _Perhaps, it may not be the worst in light of all we have faced._ Arthur admitted, understanding her message. He took a small step forwards, wincing at how the ground softly crumbled under his feet. This was it. He took one more step before becoming paralysed with anxiety. He gazed back at the White Dragon, drenched in his childhood fear and trepidation. _You will come to my aid if it attacks?_

The White Dragon took another step forwards, as if to answer his question. He felt his stern expression waver into a touched smile that met his sapphire eyes. 

_I will be with you all the way, Arthur._

Confidence renewed, Arthur crept forwards into the pitch black. Aithusa followed timidly behind him. It was impossible to discern just how far away they were exactly from the creature. This greatly unnerved Arthur. Still he continued onwards blindly, one hand groping in front reluctantly to ensure he hadn’t stumbled too far. Three small steps later, his body and mind both seemed to agree that this was a terrible idea. Stalking around in the _dark,_ when the enemy clearly had pristine vision – it was hardly fair. Within seconds, a miniscule orb of blue light – that Arthur _hadn’t_ conjured – swiveled around him gracefully. Baffled by it, he gazed back to Aithusa who studied the orb curiously. Arthur was ready to fling his sword at it and shatter the enchantment into pieces warily, until he heard the Dragon’s voice enter his mind.

_It is not only I that is with you, Arthur._

She didn’t need to specify who the significant other was; he guessed it as soon as his disorientated eyes got a _proper_ look at the orb that had stopped moving. It was a crystal blue, a mystical haze swelling around inside it. The light it emitted was efficient and yet deceptively it somehow replicated natural moonlight in order to remove speculation or unwanted attention. The colour of the orb, and the nature of its actions, had revealed the owner of it instantly. Instead of gratitude, or relief, Arthur felt _nothing_ but pure, boiling rage that began to bubble inside his body like a furnace. It started at his toes, then rose up heatedly to paint his cheeks.

_Merlin._

**♦☼♦**

Moments after Morgana had left, another figure entered. The constricting, tense atmosphere instantly slithered back into the shadows to bother somebody else. In return came a lighter air that soaked into their lungs. The rugged man walked forwards, taking a seat beside Merlin.

“How’s our magical friend here doing?”

Gwen cast her eyes over to Gwaine, who was fumbling with his hands nervously. He examined Merlin’s chest as it rose and fall steadily with his breaths. His face was still swathed with a sickly colour. He looked pasty and yellowish in hue, unsettling Gwaine.

“As good as he can be,” Gaius began clearing the workbench. “though I-”

“-Gaius! Gaius it’s happening again!” Gwen yelped suddenly, leaping onto her feet with urgency. Gwaine lunged forwards, trying to settle the unexpected change in Merlin’s body. He was unsuccessful, Merlin slipped out of his grasp. The man was writhing like he had done before, the hum of magic echoing throughout the clearing. The trees around swayed a little too violently, the leaves danced energetically across the stone. Panicked, Gwen cupped her mouth. This was _far_ more strenuous than the kind of magic he’d unconsciously unleashed earlier. Gaius pushed Gwaine aside, gazing down at the blue glow that had protruded from his hand. Lifting up the blanket, Gaius studied the blue orb. It rested in the palm of the druid’s hand. Merlin’s movements became more frantic. Suddenly, his fragile voice was shouting hysterically.

“Arthur!” he cried. “ _Go_ Arthur, follow the light!”

“What’s happening Gaius?” Gwen shrieked.

 _Arthur, Arthur no!_ Merlin’s shouts faded into wild, desperate mumblings full of intensity and fear.

“Merlin’s magic is acting instinctively, it seems he’s trying to help Arthur.” Gaius scurried over to the workbench, searching for the right ingredients.

“That’s… _good_ right?” Gwaine asked hopefully, though realistically he was not able to see how one earth this could be _good._ Shaking his head, Gaius briskly stirred round a mixture in one of his containers.

“The more Merlin uses his magic, the quicker he deteriorates. The curse is leeching onto his magic, feasting upon it. The only chance Merlin has is to control his magic-”

“-But you said his magic is becoming unstable, that he can’t control it in this state.” Gwen remarked reluctantly, eyes locked on Merlin.  It was clear there was a peculiar contradiction on all that had been said.

“There is so much I don’t understand about this curse. But it is fleshing out his magic somehow for certain.” Gaius rushed over to Merlin’s side, drawing the tightened lips open. Merlin resisted against him, small moans of objection sounding through pants. The orb was glowing brighter now, gradually draining him of energy. “Come on my boy,” he pleaded. Managing to keep the mouth open, he gestured to Gwaine who hastily poured the liquid down his throat. Merlin coughed and spluttered sadistically, emitting another low moan.

“Hold his head or he will choke!” Instantly, Gwen cradled Merlin’s head. He was still squirming, the orb continuing to shine. Gaius was back at the workbench, compiling another temporary vial to try and pacify the magic.

“It’s not _working_ Gaius.” The cinnamon-skinned woman wept dismally, one hand gently tracing patterns on Merlin’s face.

“It will take some time to kick in,” Gaius explained whilst stirring the second potion avidly. “What we really need is the Mortius Flower.”

“Arthur _will_ find it.” Gwaine insisted, the belief spewing from his eyes. “I know he will.”

“ _Arthur!_ I have to, _Arthur.”_ Merlin spat urgently, Gwaine’s words seemingly spurring another explosion of energy. “Arthur, Arthur-”

“-He doesn’t have long.” The old man said forlornly, administering the second potion with force. Merlin gasped, his stream of words disjoining whilst he swallowed the liquid. “These potions will merely suppress the magical outbursts. Once they have worn off, the intensity will be far greater, maybe even fatal-”

“- _No._ ” Gwaine shook his head vehemently. “Can’t you make another potion once these wear off?”

“I can,” the old man sighed, not entirely convinced with his own answer. “But this curse is resilient. It is already growing immune to whatever we give Merlin.”

All eyes focused on Merlin. His body had refrained from moving, the potions clearly beginning to take hold. The blue orb in his hand evapourated into the air, no longer ceasing to exist. The word ‘Arthur’ continued to fall from his lips in quiet, hushed tones. Aside from this, his body had gone back to the period of resting it had previously been in.

“Gaius,” Gwen softly began. “Get some rest. Gwaine and I will watch him.”

“We’ll come and get you if there are any changes.” The brown-haired man added, hoping to console Gaius as much as possible. Grimacing, Gaius stared down at Merlin quietly. With a submissive sigh, he gazed over to Gwen. She was speaking the truth of course. His body was on the brink of exhaustion, ready to collapse at any moment, not that he would tell them that.

“Very well,” he made his way to the edge of the stone clearing. Pausing he turned round to the pair sternly. “ _any_ changes no matter how small, you come for me.”

**♦☼♦**

_Christ,_ this had Merlin written _all over it._ Now that name came into his head, he was certain. Yes. This was Merlin’s doing, he could _feel_ it. The Druid, whose magic was already weak enough, whose body was too feverish, who was on the _brink of death,_ still had the audacity to try and _help!_ How on _earth_ he had managed to do this, _miles and miles away_ from Ealdor,he did not know. But Arthur _did_ know one thing. It was stupid and not at all thoughtful or chivalrous. If anything it was _insulting!_ It was one of the first spells Merlin had taught Arthur after all. This time, Arthur really _did_ slash at the orb, hissing at it as if he believed it would make it go away.

It didn’t.

Arthur berated it further because this was _fucking stupid_ and the longer Merlin kept up this charade, the less time he would have to live! The orb of light simply dodged his attacks swiftly, coiling around him and illuminating a small circumference around him. The blue hue was rapidly spinning around him, diving away from his assaults, almost _knowingly_. It dizzied him a little, but not enough to delay his sword. The Dragon snarled in vexation at Arthur’s ignorance to his surroundings. Arthur didn’t listen, because Arthur was too concerned about his beloved – did he mention _dying?! -_ Merlin, who _should be resting_ and not _helping Merlin god dammit I can fucking conjure this myself put it out! Rest you idiot._ He didn’t realise he was speaking aloud until he heard his own voice flutter high up into a volume far too perilous for where they were.

“I don’t need your help you fool! You need to preserve your magic, not perform silly tricks with it. Just go away and let me _save you_ for goodness sa-“

The words spewing from his mouth suddenly fizzled away dramatically, with a slight elongation of the final vowel. Unable to snap shut his mouth; Arthur stood motionless as his eyes studied the sight before him. He whole body trembled unwillingly. In the dim light of the blue orb, it was clear that the dark mass ahead of them was now incredibly close. _Too fucking close._ He could see its large crimson eyes bleeding out from the darkness, gouging into the scene ominously. Damn, Aithusa _was_ right, each of its eyes were bigger than his head alone. He could feel its pungent, foul breath on his face. He could just about distinguish the razor-sharp carnassial fangs protruding from its mouth menacingly, and despite the lack of light the sheer insidious nature of the beast was apparent. Slowly, he took a step backwards; Aithusa mimicked his actions. A fierce expression swathed his face as he held Excalibur out in front of him protectively.

They couldn’t run now. They _had_ to find that flower. It was Merlin’s only chance of survival. Sneaking past the beast was now no longer an option. They had to face it. Yet there was a predicament. The lack of light barely revealed the Basilisk’s face entirely. There was no way they could fight this creature in darkness. But now it was so close, there was the risk of it initiating sudden attack if any sudden changes were made to the scene. Instead, Arthur continued to walk backwards, eyes locked on the blood red pools in front of him. Panic overcame his system. Inhaling a ragged breath, he spoke to Aithusa desperately.

 _We can’t fight it if we can’t see! And we need a plan. We can’t just attack. It’s a freaking Basilisk!_ He admitted bleakly, voice full of fear and pessimism.

_If we had a plan, I fear it would still leave us disadvantaged. Basilisk’s are cunning and have been known to guess an opponent’s plan before it has even come into motion. The best chance we have of defeating this creature is by taking it by surprise, doing what it doesn’t expect us to-_

_-Which would be?_ Arthur asked, wishing he’d actually _listened_ to that illegal, clandestine seminar Leon had given back in Camelot many months ago about magical creatures and their traits. Instead of actually taking in what was being said, he had twiddled his thumbs, making occasional snide remarks whilst Morgana and a few avid Druidians had listened intently to the talk. He was certain some of what Leon had said would have _probably_ come in handy now. The young Dragon’s words didn’t give him much comfort.

_I do not know what a Basilisk expects of its prey, and thus do not know what it would not expect._

Arthur rolled his eyes at the eloquent delivery of ‘I don’t know’. Aithusa almost sounded as cryptic and irritating as Kilgarrah for a moment. He swore he felt the White Dragon shudder behind him. He didn’t mention it to her, too concerned about the consequences of a _Dragon_ fearing this creature. He was less than half the size of a Dragon. Aithusa’s chest vibrated as a low humming resonated outwards. The drone appeared to stall the Basilisk’s movements, keeping it where it was whilst the pair stalked backwards to create distance. As they did so, Arthur studied other parts of the creature that were slowly coming into focus. First thing he noticed was that its scales appeared to have a thin, sticky residue. It had a peculiar gleam to it, as if the beast had been caught in endless rain and never quite dried. He narrowed his eyes, a little confused and pondering whether this was an optical illusion induced by poor lighting.

 _You must not touch its scales Arthur; they are covered with venom that is lethal to humans._ Aithusa supplied, explaining this strange phenomenon. 

Arthur found himself too submerged in shock to reply. They had no plan. No _true_ knowledge of this creature because it apparently was _exceedingly rare_ and only nestled in _the most hazardous of places._ The thought of its habitat unnerved Arthur. If a Basilisk of all creatures had settled in Ealdor it didn’t bode well for Merlin. It was an indication that this land was truly infertile and barren. Even if the Mortius flower _was_ here, Arthur feared the extreme conditions of this landscape would blight it. His eyes examined more of what he could vaguely see. On the crown of its scaly head were mammoth spikes. Following that a series of smaller splinters all varying in size. Some were significantly dilapidated, creating jagged edges on the peaks. That was all Arthur managed to see before everything abruptly got _worse._

To be more precise – things became _dark._

The small blue orb of light vapourised into oblivion suddenly, leaving them in pitch black. Arthur barely had a moment to contemplate what that meant for _Merlin_ and his health, because what happened next wasn’t right at all. Nothing happened. There was no attack. Aithusa and Arthur were left dangling in darkness. There was no sound from around them, no indication the Basilisk was here. It _terrified_ Arthur. Without hesitation he conjured a spell, allowing a larger, more prominent orb to float around him. Just in time. The Basilisk was seconds from digging its long dagger-like teeth into his body! He dodged the maneuver swiftly; Aithusa breathed a jet of blue fire warningly, a response to the giant snake’s invasive hiss.

The blue flames caught the splints of wood scattered across the arid land, setting it ablaze around them. The blue flame against Arthur’s orange orb of light fully illuminated the Basilisk. Now Arthur could see the whole thing, he wanted nothing more than to erase it from his memory and get rid of the light. The Basilisk had three sets of teeth; smaller pointed fangs followed those impossibly feral ones he’d spotted earlier; he didn’t doubt that they were still just as fatal. The serrated spikes on its head drifted all the way down its slithery body. Its scales were a dark emerald, its whole body glinting with that thick residue. Its tail swung perilously around the coils of its body. The tail _itself_ was frightening. On the end of the tail was _another_ snake head, barely bigger than Arthur but big enough to induce panic within him. It too possessed the same blood red eyes.

The Basilisk lifted its huge head into the air, its body towering over Arthur _and_ Aithusa. Both had to tilt their heads upwards to keep track of it. There was a brief stalemate. Then it mercilessly lunged towards Arthur. He managed to narrowly avoid a collision, sword scraping against the side of the creature’s face. As soon as that happened, there was another assault. Its speed was unmatched. Arthur didn’t have time to move out of the way or doge it. Eyes wide, Arthur stood paralysed. Its jaw was wide open, revealing the deadly cavern inside. The front fangs were almost as tall as Arthur himself. Overall the whole things screamed imminent death. He clamped his eyes shut, sword outstretched in front of him frantically. But the final blow never came. Stunned he opened his eyes, hearing a prominent roar sound behind him.

Atihusa slashed at the giant snake, throwing it off guard and causing it to miss him. Arthur became animated and dived out of reach, holding Excalibur above him as he toppled over to the ground. The snake was back in milliseconds, guzzling down the earth he had once stood upon seconds later. The White Dragon lunged forwards, charging into the creature. It fell backwards abruptly at the force of the Dragon. The Basilisk seemed intent on catching Arthur. It leapt forwards unfazed. Again, Aithusa deflected it, spewing another jet of sapphire fire intimidatingly. Arthur continued to move, watching helplessly as Aithusa attempted to attack the creature. His eyes could not move fast enough as the creatures duelled epically.

Aithusa was an agile Dragon, far daintier than Kilgarrah, her body lean and yet strong. This appeared to work to her advantage as she dodged the Basilisk’s venomous lunges effortlessly. Whilst this happened, the Basilisk suddenly steered its thrashing tail towards Arthur. Taken-aback, he stumbled out of harm’s way. The velocity he fell pushed him to the ground. His body was quivering, his heart racing. The serpent zoomed down to meet him, seconds from sinking its venom into his throat. Arthur swung his sword across his chest. As he did so, it caught the creature by the neck, chopping off the tail’s head. The tiny Basilisk released a shrill cry, its shrieking head rolling across the ground. Arthur leapt back onto his feet. He plunged his sword into the writhing head, a little repulsed at the sight. The head stopped moving.

As soon as he withdrew the sword, he noticed the scales around his blade were slightly discoloured. Rather than that familiar deep emerald, they were curiously silver. His eyes darted between his sword and the deceased snake. Aithusa’s words from earlier swept over him. This sword had been forged in the fires of _two Dragons._ It was not only _powerful,_ it was unstoppable – even against the darkest of foes.

 _Aithusa! I know how to kill it._ He cried in delight, turning back to the Dragon.

He observed the scene in horror. The Basilisk was looming over Aithusa, its poised head gazing down upon the Dragon like an assured, calculating predator. Aithusa wasn’t standing, no. She was lying down on her belly, her neck unable to sustain her head, crashing it against the ground violently. It didn’t take long to put two and two together, especially when Arthur spotted the crimson bite marks on her right side. She had been bitten. It was about to make the final blow, _kill_ the Dragon- kill Aithusa. In horror, Arthur valiantly lunged forwards. He no longer was thinking of himself, only for Aithusa who had valiantly protected him against the ferocity of the Basilisk. He didn’t think about the venomous scales or the impending doom. He charged forwards and stood in front of the White Dragon. The Basilisk cocked its head to one side in confusion. Arthur could have never predicted what happened next, it sniggered. It was a dark and snide sound.

“S’My, s-s-s-s, S’my.” The Basilisk chimed; a slithery sound wrapped each booming syllable. “’S’The Once S’and Future s-s-s-s, and s’his Dragon,” it bowed its large head mockingly; low enough to meet Arthur at eye level. Arthur involuntarily trembled as their eyes met. His bravery dissolved. “It is-s-s-s-s a s’pleasure to meet you. S-s-s-s. I’ve heard s-s-s-such s-s-s-spectacular things have happened during my hibernation…s-s-s-such a s-s-s-shame I missed all the bloodshed and des-s-struction-”

“-There’s s-s-still a bit more left to go actually, you're just in time." Arthur replied boldly, holding his sword out. Hell, he didn't know where the fuck this stupidity was coming from - taunting a Basilisk of all things! The creature seemed unamused by his slight mockery, but delighted by his implications. 

“Ohhh, Once and Future!” the creature hissed with delight, coiling its body around Arthur, but not close enough to touch his skin. This game was agnoising, tauntingly close and yet playfully too far to cause any real damage. “You _are_ s-s-s-s-s-so quaint, I almost don’t want to _s-s-s_ _eat you.”_

“I’d like to see you _try.”_

“Don’t _tempt_ me s-s-s-silly.”

Arthur prodded his sword towards the scaly flesh all around him, not failing to jab it when it got tantalizingly close to his skin. Swinging his sword, constantly turning his body to ensure his immediate surroundings were safe, he gritted his teeth. Aithusa was hurt. Merlin was dying. This bloody Basilisk was just getting in the way of everything! He was no longer scared of the creature, simply exasperated as the toll of the Great Battle finally began to have its effects on his bruised, weak body. He just wanted the happy ending magical books and fairytales always promised, he just wanted Merlin to be alive, for Aithusa to be okay. Naïve and foolish maybe, but not as far-fetched as one might assume. For whilst Arthur had been conversing with the giant snake, an idea had come into his mind – one he was sure the Basilisk would never guess because even to _him_ it sounded ridiculous and near impossible.

“The first time I heard about you was in a book,” Arthur spoke, voice ringing out across the plain resiliently. “I was just a child. I was terrified of you-”

“-S-s-s-so you s-s-should be.” The Basilisk seemed elated by this confession, reveling in the words as if it were a great complement.

“But then as Morgana said you always were just a giant, _stupid_ snake,” the creature hissed in rage at the insult, dramatically turning from bizarrely charming to completely formidable. “and if Harry could defeat you despite the odds, then so can I.”

At this, the Basilisk _laughed._

“I know not who this Harry is-s-s-s you s-s-speak of.” It sneered, slithering around Arthur in amusement. “But as you can see I can c-c-c-certainly not dead!”

“Not yet.” Arthur replied darkly. Instinctively, his eyes flashed silver, words wildly spewing from his mouth.

“Beorhtne! Brima æwielmas,” The snake began to hiss noisily, its red eyes full of alarm. It uncoiled itself from Arthur. But it was far too late. For the Once and Future was determined to save his friends, his family, and _nothing_ was going to prevent him from doing otherwise. “Beswylle beaduléoma!”

A huge wave of water transpired from nowhere magically. It caught the Basilisk in a helix, twisting like a whirlpool. The creature screeched, unable to escape the rapid, swirling vortex of water. Excalibur was dripping wet with water, a similar phenomenon occurring around the blade. Without question, Arthur lunged forwards and thrust Excalibur deep into the suffocating Basilisk. The force of the water against his skin was exhilarating; the freezing ice droplets pelted his skin and face as he pushed against the whirlpool. The blade cut through the scales, deep into the skin of the Basilisk. Abruptly the scales shifted from deep emerald to silver. This discolouring spread rapidly. Then the whirlpool exploded outwards into spurts of water. Arthur shielded his face against the great force.

When it was over, and small streams of water trickled past his feet, the Basilisk before him was nothing more than silvery meshes of thawed skin and corroded scales. Arthur gaped at the sight, then back at his sword in astonishment. The gravity of what he had just done pummeled him in the face; only it didn’t leave him drenched like the spell had. He had just mastered weapon-magic binding, summoning the mighty Lake of Ealdor to his aid! How on _earth_ he’d managed this, he was unsure. But god- it felt exhilarating. A brittle chuckle of disbelief escaped his lips. He’d never actually _thought_ that water would work against a creature of such caliber. Knowing it loved fire however…well, using the opposing element against it seemed to make sense. A loud thud behind him brought him back to reality.

He spun around to see none other than Kilgarrah hovering beside Aithusa. _Aithusa!_ Rushing forwards wildly, Arthur reached out towards the White Dragon, gently stroking her scales in concern. The White Dragon hummed vaguely under his caress, sapphire eyes locked on his. Her body was steady; yet the bite on her side had an ugly yellowish tint to it. Kilgarrah breathed cautiously on the wound, and Arthur watched in complete awe as the marks faded into mere scratches. He continued to stroke Aithusa’s white scales comfortingly. He feared she was in great pain from the bite.

“Dragons are far less susceptible to poison than men,” Kilgarrah said, perching beside Aithusa. “Whilst this venom would have killed you in minutes, it would have taken hours for it to reach Aithusa’s heart and still it totally.” Arthur allowed the breath he had been holding to spew from his mouth clumsily, causing him to inhale rapidly.

“She’ll be alright?” He asked as she closed her eyes dozily.

Kilgarrah met his eyes sincerely.

“She is still weak. It will take her a day or so to fully recover. I will watch over her, you must search for the flower. Merlin’s strength is fading, Gaius fears he has far fewer days than first thought.”

“How long?” he didn’t want to ask but knew it was something that couldn’t be omitted from the quest.

“Three days.”

At these words; Arthur swallowed-hard. _Three days._ If that had something to do with that floating blue orb Arthur would _never_ forgive Merlin for his stupidity! Adrenaline was still pumping through him and encouraged him to continue. He pushed the sword back into his belt and made haste to get to his feet. Fatigue and overexertion of this eventful day dawned upon his body. He collapsed against Aithusa’s side. When he tried to stand, he found he could not. His body was throbbing excruciatingly, his head felt as if it were trapped in a vice.

His eyes were sore and his vision became blurry. A nauseating dizzy feeling swept over him, knocking his head against the Dragon’s body for he could no longer hold it up. A groan escaped his lips. His eyelids slowly closed over his heavy eyes. He didn’t realise just how tired he was, how much his body craved rest. He _couldn’t rest._ He couldn’t! Not with Merlin suffering. Another groan slipped past his lips as he reached blindly out in front of him. He managed to distantly mutter the Golden Dragon’s name pleadingly.

“You have endured much today, young Pendragon,” The voice of Kilgarrah swept through his ears hypnotically lulling his body into a state of numbness. “Much like Aithusa, your body is exhausted and needs rest.” Arthur moaned in protest, something resembling a choked sob echoing through the clearing. He was too weary to make that noise again, but his body squirmed against its own will. “You _must_ rest, at least until dawn which is not too far from now. I will wake you the moment the sun rises, and you can begin your search among the remains of the cave-”

“-No.” Arthur stubbornly spat out, using his sword to prop himself onto his knees. It failed spectacularly, and he tumbled back against Aithusa once more.

“Don’t try and defy the wisdom of a Dragon.” Kilgarrah scoffed with a soft chuckle. “You _must_ allow your body to heal itself. You will do neither Merlin nor yourself any good prancing around in bleak darkness searching blindly when the blessing of sunlight is merely a few hours away.”

Slumping against Aithusa’s side, Arthur sighed at the words. Kilgarrah had a point, of course, not that he’d admit it aloud. He could feel a deep ache inside his body; he _needed_ these few hours of peace, of rest. There would be no point looking in the dark, as Kilgarrah had rightly pointed out, for the moonlight was not prevailing and there could be the horrifying possibility that he would actually miss what he sought. The Motrius flower was a small flower, and Arthur was _not_ willing to take the rest of it being overlooked; that and the fact that his body physically demanded rest. Kilgarrah’s voice vibrated through his bones, buzzed into his mind as he shut his eyes and listened pensively.

“You have once again surpassed what has been foretold about you,” It was evident the Dragon had witnessed his face-off with Basilisk. “Few have ever defeated such dark creatures, and those who have were dark creatures themselves or magical beasts.” The statement stunned Arthur; he felt a small smile curve his lips upwards as darkness surrounded his vision.

“There is goodness in your heart and in your soul Arthur Pendragon. You possess something special.” Arthur blinked one eye upon curiously, gazing over at the Golden Dragon who was rousing a small fire beside them for warmth. There was silence. Arthur stared at the Dragon intently, stirring over the words that echoed in his mind. Kilgarrah turned his head and looked over to the blonde man brazenly. Arthur was sure any other man would have trembled at the prospect of sitting this close to _two_ Dragons. He wasn’t a Dragonlord like Merlin; these creatures had no obligation to help him. Yet here they were, doing just that. To say that this touched Arthur was an understatement. His eyes twinkled with the tame flames of the fire. Then the Great Dragon lay beside Aithusa; Arthur rested against the White Dragon between the pair. Shutting his eyes as a wave of fatigue swept over him, Arthur sighed. A desperate sound resonated through his chest at the thought of Merlin.

“I have no doubt that Merlin will be fine,” The Dragon replied soothingly. “For he has _you_ at his side…”

Arthur fell into dreams moments later, lulled by the sound of Kilgarrah’s voice, and Aithusa’s low rumbles in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: 
> 
> Arthur's first "big" spell: 
> 
> Beorhtne! Brima æwielmas, beswylle beaduléoma
> 
> Beorhtne! Summon your water, drench this land and my sword


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays, I started writing the final two chapters and got too excited. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one, quite a lot happens and it is a bit long (sorry). 
> 
> I think it's become clear to you all that I really DON'T want to finish this story and this world. But alas, this story is coming to an end. The final parts are coming together and I suspect we'll end around Chapter 60 - so we're almost there. 
> 
> I am already planning a potential sequel, but can't promise anything yet ;) 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!!

 

“We need to buy Arthur time.” Gwaine muttered across to Gwen who was sat silently opposite Merlin. The small fire beside them was crackling with mild amber flames. It was far more modest than the fires that had graced Iaonem many hours ago. As opposed to producing grandiose spectacles of radiance, it was a soft glow faded into the background. It provided the necessary amount of warmth, nothing more. Lifting her head, Gwen met his eyes.

“If only that were possible.” she soothingly clasped Merlin’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He’d been alarmingly still the past few hours; she hoped it bode well for Arthur.

“It _is_ possible.” Surprised by the statement, Gwen narrowed her eyes. She beckoned Gwaine to continue, interested in his words. Averting his eyes for a moment to cautiously gaze around the clearing, he leant forwards over Merlin, closer to her. His voice was low. “Tomorrow, Topia and I are taking the weapon to Iaonam. We’re going to examine it and see what we find-”

“- _Gwaine.”_ Her tone was scolding, eyes guarded. “This is _dark_ magic, Gaius said so himself. Not even _Kilgarrah_ would go near that gun! It’s not to be meddled lightly with.”

“Well from the short time I’ve spent with Dragons, I can say they can be rather peculiar-”

Rolling her eyes at his poor attempt to lighten the mood, she leant across Merlin imploringly.

“- _Gwaine-”_

“-Gaius himself said he needs the Mortius flower. He’s not going to be able to sustain Merlin for much longer.” Frowning at that, Gwen lowered her gaze to Merlin. He was sound now, completely engrossed in sleep. “If we understand more about what hit Merlin, we could slow it down.” 

As she met Gwaine’s eyes, she noticed the glimmer that was not induced by the firelight. Tilting her head, she pursed her lips coyly as a charming smile split open his face.

“What do you need me to do?”

“You’re going to _hate_ this.” He admitted, grinning despite his words, elated she was co-operating. “I need you to _lie.”_ He said the word as if it were a dreadful sin. Judging by Gwen’s reaction, it was. She laughed nervously, twiddling with her hands.

“I’m a _terrible_ liar, why don’t you ask Morgana-”

“-Too obvious.” He supplied nonchalantly, folding his arms across his chest. “Besides no-one would suspect sweet little Gwen.” The woman’s eyes fluttered with amusement.

“Don’t patronize me Gwaine, I’m not entirely sweet.” Gwaine stifled a laugh at her words. They really didn’t match the beautiful, modest, kind woman sitting in front of him. Raising his eyebrows at her, he smirked.

“I’m _complementing_ you. You just need to convince whoever asks that Topia and I aren’t up to anything. Say we’re going on a date or something, although _don’t_ tell Zelina that, she’d probably come and hunt me down-”

“-A _date!”_ Gwen exclaimed with a broad, triumphant smile. Cocking an eyebrow, Gwaine frowned.

“What?” he asked obliviously.

“Out of all things, you offered _date?”_

“Why are you surprised?” he retorted.

“I’m _not_!” she said with hilarity. “You’re the most flirtatious person I know. But _Topia_ is a _Clan Leader-”_

“-What can I say? I like authoritative woman.” He shrugged brazenly with a grin; Gwen laughed at the words, relaxed for the first time today.

Pause.

“… _Is_ it a date?” she pried curiously, eyes gleaming with delight. “Because Arthur once told me despite your charm, you do have a strange way of asking people out, like Daphne back at Ca-”

“- _No_!” Gwaine interjected quickly, his composure wavering slightly. He made note to get Arthur back for telling such an embarrassing story despite _promising_ not to. “I’m sure inviting a woman to help you dismantle a deadly object that could _kill us_ is far from a…” he gestured vaguely. “ _date.”_ Gwen hummed ambiguously.

“Each to their own.” She slyly replied, hand still tightened around Merlin’s. Relief washed over her as she felt his pulse had slowed to a relatively normal rate. His breathing was even; his body still. “It may sound silly,” she exhaled, caressing the skin beneath her hands. “But I think he can hear us. I think he’s listening to us right now.”

“I’m sure he’s enjoying our conversation very much, aren’t you Merlin?” Gwaine jibed, glancing down at Merlin as if he actually expected a response. There was none of course. Abruptly, Gwaine’s tone shifted to one of sincerity. “If you _can_ hear us Merlin, we’re doing all we can for you.” At the words, Merlin’s body twitched slightly, a low muffled sound escaping his lips. “But it’s not enough. You _have_ to do what you can too. Hold on, and try to control your magic as best you can because it’s weakening you.”

Merlin made another elusive sound, almost quiet enough to dismiss as a loud breath. However, both Gwen and Gwaine had heard it. They exchanged hopeful looks. Gwen smoothed her hand over his forehead, running her fingers through the dark hair on his head.

“We’ll look after you Merlin,” she cooed. “Just look after yourself, you can be selfless at times, _incredibly so._ But now is not the time for that, now you need to focus on yourself.” Smiling, she gently kissed his hand. “Do you remember the day you and…” pausing midsentence, she cleared the lump in her throat. “…Will took me to the waterfall of Retriax for my birthday? We spent the whole day by the waterfall, laughing and talking in the sunshine. We even spotted a few water pixies! It was beautiful. And the time you picked me flowers when I was upset, only I was allergic to them and spent the rest of the day sneezing!” smile widening, she affectionately gazed down at him. “From the day I met you all those years ago, I knew you were destined for greatness. And I _know_ that you are going to live.” Her tone became stronger. “You are _going_ to live Merlin. I _know_ you are.”

It seemed she had momentarily forgotten Gwaine was sitting opposite her beside Merlin. Blushing awkwardly, she averted her eyes elsewhere. He studied her intently.

“You’ve known Merlin for a long time.” Gwaine deduced softly, flickering between the two friends.

“He is like a brother to me,” she laughed. “the _younger_ brother of course. I always saw Will as the older one.” Sadness etched onto her face, the smile filtered away and left behind echoes of a grief that was all too raw to be voiced again. Reaching over Merlin to Gwen’s hand, Gwaine offered her a consoling smile.

“I’m sorry, truly I am.” He muttered.

Gwen offered him a small appreciative smile but said nothing in return. Nobody but Merlin – not even Arthur – would understand what losing Will _really felt like._ He had died protecting Arthur Pendragon, the man he’d sworn to hate all this time. Yet by doing so, he had proved just what kind of man he was. Will had always been reckless, brave, _stupid,_ foolish and a whole range of other adjectives came to mind. Outside of Albion, when Gwen had saved him, he had behaved in his usual manner too. At first she found it slightly insulting, scolding him at every opportunity. Over the few weeks she nursed him back to health, she had grown deeply attached to his mannerisms – _all_ of them. She loved him. Not the same kind of love she felt for Lancelot; it was a different love. It was just as deep and meaningful though- it hurt. Gwen was still wondering how _on earth_ to breach the subject to Merlin when he eventually woke – when, because he _was_ going wake. Arthur would succeed. She had no doubt of that. With an attempt to suppress her upset, she bit her lip. 

Respectful of the fact Gwen clearly wanted to sit and think for a while, Gwaine said nothing either. The pair sat there together for the rest of the night in silence. Both watched over Merlin. A couple of times one of them found themselves battling aggressively with sleep, leaving just one of them to watch over the Druid. Once each of them had acquired an adequate amount of rest considering the circumstances – an hour at best between them – they continued to sit pensively beside their friend. Both were dwelling on Arthur and on his eventual return. Apparently, however, Gwaine was also thinking of something else. Narrowing his eyes, he finally spoke again. His voice was hoarse from the hours of rest it had taken.

“Have you noticed anything…” scrabbling for the correct word, he tilted his head to the side. “… _odd_ about Morgana?”

A little startled by his words, Gwen gazed over to him. Narrowing her eyes, she waited for some kind of elaboration, an explanation; none came. He was gazing at her intently, expecting an answer. 

“Well, today has been a long day,” She admitted smartly, raising her eyebrows at the horrific memories. “So _much_ has happened-”

“-Yes, agreed.” Gwaine sighed, stroking his stubble pensively. “But she’s…not quite herself.” Hand resting on his chin, he glanced over at Gwen curiously. Lowering her eyes, Gwen fiddled with her fingers awkwardly. To deny she hadn’t noticed anything different about Morgana would be a lie. From the moment they were reunited in the tunnels, leading the people to safety, the woman didn’t look right at all. “What happened in Iaonam? Something seems to have shaken her.”

Calculatedly, Gwen lifted her eyes and began to recite all that she knew.

“She found Morgause in the tunnels,” meeting his eyes slowly, she grimaced. “When we were safe, and had escaped the blast she told me not to worry, because Morgause was dead.”

“Morgause is a powerful sorceress,” Gwaine mused, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion. He could remember her ominous presence in Camelot Enterprise. “No offence to Morgana but I doubt she could have taken her on, even _Merlin_ seemed a little unsettled at the thought of dueling with her. Don’t you find it strange that Morgana came out of an encounter with her without a single scratch-”

“-I hardly think that’s important now Gwaine,” Gwen replied rather sternly. “Morgause is _dead_.” Pause.

Gwaine harboured an enigmatic sparkle in his eyes. It was one Gwen tried to ignore because she’d seen that look many times in others and disliked where it headed. She didn’t manage to ignore it for long, because Gwaine was speaking.

“You have every right to believe that, I mean why shouldn’t you-”

“-What are you saying?” Gwaine shrugged at her response, keeping himself to himself.

The fact that Gwaine refused to continue his thoughts greatly frustrated her. The emotion was quickly replaced with concern as Merlin made a peculiar sound halfway between coughing and gasping. Pressing her hand to his head, she soothingly hummed an ancient wordless Druid song Hunith had taught her. Studying Gwen quietly, the rugged man listened to her words. At times, Gwen almost reminded him of Merlin – she was wise, kind and just like him. She had led the people to Iaonem, and she had bought them home from Iaonam. Despite appearances, she was far from just a pretty face. She was brave and courageous.

“Morgana may appear to come across strong and untouchable, but she’s still a human being. Questioning her behavior, or her story, is hardly fair. No one has been themselves today. And we shouldn’t expect them to either, it’s been far from a normal day.”

Nodding, accepting her words, Gwaine smiled wearily. His eyes were locked on the diminished embers of the fire beside them. Merlin was still between them, breathing even and slow. He wasn’t naïve, Gwaine. Over the years he’d developed a skill he usually kept to himself. He was good at deductions – not to the extent of the legendary fictitious Sherlock Holmes – but _still,_ he was good at them. When he _knew_ someone, he _knew_ them. Often he would catch friends by surprise with his ability to read their emotions, trace back to the origins of what was causing their troubles. Yes, nobody _was_ really themselves today of all days. That didn’t mean Morgana _wasn’t_ acting oddly. With a final sigh, he cast it to the back of his mind. It wasn’t of great importance right now. His eyes drifted over to Merlin and rested there until the sun began to creep elusively over the palpable forest.

**♦☼♦**

The _second_ Arthur could feel the rays of the sun trickling down upon his skin, warming his body and reviving his rested soul, he jolted awake. His eyes snapped open violently; his body inhaled a breath of air too quickly. The Dragon’s beside him were dozing in a peaceful slumber. Arthur cast a glance over to the gash on Aithusa’s side, relieved to find it had almost healed with Kilgarrah’s help. All she needed now was more rest and Aithusa would be fine. _Merlin,_ however, Arthur could not guarantee that he would be fine, and that truly scared him. Merlin’s life hung in the balance of a dangerous quest that was heavily dependent on time and location. Time was short – the location was huge. It was hardly _comforting._ Leaping up onto his feet, Arthur stumbled towards the edge of the Crystal Cave rubble.

The Cave had collapsed in on itself after the destruction. All that remained were remnants of what it once was. It was less than an echo, less than a _ghostly_ picture of its initial wonder. The sight was horrific. Knowing what the Cave once looked like, how _beautiful_ it had been, made this sight more horrific. This Cave had once been the pride of the Ealdor people, the sacred place of Albion. It was a _treasure_ that could not be replaced; it was now gone. Where the grand open mouth once lay was nothing but piled rocks. Desecrated; destroyed – it threatened to damp his stinging eyes once more. Then he thought of _Merlin_ and everything paled into the background until all that was left was a raw urgency.

He began pushing rocks aside from each other, rolling them counter-productively apart to glance between the hidden cracks and stone beneath. Some were too big to move, others so tiny there seemed no point in even looking underneath them. One thing was certain; the rocks had created an elevated platform over where the cave once was. Beneath the first layer of rock was…rock, and beneath that was… _more_ rock. If the Mortius Flower was really here, then Arthur doubted it would still be intact.

How could such a delicate flower still be present in this total _chaos_ around?

He refused to answer that pessimistic question, striving to continue his search. Convinced he’d find nothing in the patch of rocks he’d surveyed, Arthur ploughed forwards through more of the rubble. Kneeling, he began to systematically and methodically lift each rock an arm’s span away. As he did, he meticulously studied the area around him. It didn’t take long for him to become extremely vexed. Moving each rock aside to reveal another was mundane and an idle way of searching. As his eye scanned the area to reveal the vast area of rubble, it was clear that continuing to look in this manner was not only slow but _impossible._ It would take _days_ in itself just to assess the nature and stability of the surfaces he was walking upon! He’d _never_ find it at this rate.

It was then, when he thumped a rock with his hand in frustration that his eyes drifted towards his right and spotted something rather peculiar. In the distance, still in the rubble, there was what looked like a _pathway._ A pathway downward, still in tact and no doubt leading inside to the heart of the Cave. Wrestling with his sanity, he stared fixatedly at the pathway. It was steep and stooped downwards _rapidly –_ there was no guarantee once he had gotten down there that he would be able to get back up. But it was a chance to get into the _heart_ of the Cave – surely if anything had been preserved it would be deep underground rather than on the surface? Swallowing-hard, he took a step towards the pathway, ensuring to memorise its location in his mind. Then he swiftly darted back to the Dragon’s.

“Kilgarrah!” he said, prodding the beast with his hands. The Golden Dragon leisurely opened his eyes, seeming unhappy that it had been disturbed from the period of peaceful rest. Dubious as the whether the Dragon was _fully_ aware and awake, Arthur ignorantly prodded it once more, only this time it was more insistent and had a little bit more force to it. Immediately he realised his mistake and leapt back as the Dragon growled. Locking eyes with Arthur, the growl faded and Kilgarrah propped itself onto his feet expectantly. The Dragon didn’t even need to _ask_ to know that Arthur required his assistance.

Throwing a hand behind him vaguely, Arthur spewed words from his mouth.

“I’ve found a passage, it leads down into the Crsytal Cave,” he explained, ignoring the disbelief and concern etched onto the scaly face. “I believe it will lead me into the centre of the cave, where there’s a _far_ better chance of finding this flower. But it’s too steep. I can’t climb it.” Glancing back to the long, large tail of the Dragon, Arthur finished his request. ”I need _your_ help.”

Establishing Arthur’s plan, Kilgarrah frowned. This plan was dangerous, that much was apparent.

“Do not be so rash on this decision Arthur,” he warned, voice low and full of that strange omniscience Dragons seem to instinctively posses. “The cave is no longer a stable place. If you enter, there is no way of telling when the rubble above will give way. You could be crushed in seconds, with only one narrow passage as an unlikely escape.”

Put it like _that_ and it really did seem impossible. Pretending to ignore the warning, the evident disagreement with this plan, Arthur strode forwards passionately.

“I can’t just _abandon_ Merlin! Dangerous or not, I _have_ to at least try.”

The Dragon followed behind him towards the pathway resignedly, making no verbal response to the words. It was enough, a confirmation he would agree to Arthurs demands. The passage was narrow and steep like Arthur had said. It bled out into darkness, with no indication of what lay down in its depths. The rocks were jagged and unevenly sloped downwards – the whole thing seemed perilous and extremely lethal. Kilgarrah was certain a human would not survive falling down this slope, nor would they survive attempting to climb it. Arthur silently gazed at the gateway into the Cave. It was their final chance; they had to give it a shot! Turning to the Dragon who seemed far less impressed with the plan than hoped, Arthur gestured to the treacherous pathway.

“Look it’s not so…” drawing his eyebrows together incredulously, he attempted to enact a persuasive passive face. “…bad.” Kilgarrah snorted and saw right through it. Façade aside, Arthur _had_ to do this. Unclenching the fists he didn’t know he’d been holding, Arthur sighed.

“I can conjure a source of light to guide me through the Cave, I’ll only be in there a few hours. Besides, if we feel anything is unsafe I’ll race straight back to the pathway and you can get me out.” The optimism brimmed from his voice, and was hard to absorb.

Reluctantly, Kilgarrah held out his tail. Arguing with the Once and Future was futile. He may not be a Dragonlord or able to have _full control_ over a Dragon, but Kilgarrah respected him enough to listen. Even more so, his _kin_ was at risk. Arthur was the only chance for Merlin, so whatever needed to be done had to be. Arthur wrapped his arms around the tail, clinging onto the scaly skin tightly. Slowly, the Dragon steered his great tail towards the edge of the pathway. They shared one final look. Arthur nodded determinedly – a signal to continue. Kilgarrah said nothing and continued to lower his tail. Seconds later, Arthur was plunged into a new darkness. He could feel ground beneath his feet and let go of the golden tail.

Then he was alone, in a new darkness.

**♦☼♦**

“So let’s think- what do we already know about this thing?” Gwaine gestured towards the weapon on the ground whilst circling it pensively. The pair had left for Iaonam when the sun had barely risen over the sky. Somehow they’d escaped the settlement inconspicuously, without notice or speculation. Iaonam was nothing but ruins, a large area of smashed up rocks, boulders and occasional areas of grass surrounded by the large Iaonem forest. They had walked a little past the crushed Iaonam caves and to a small, discrete clearing that was partially covered by the vegation around.

The woman with dark hair beside Gwaine lowered herself to her knees to inspect the weapon from a safe distance. Gwaine gazed over at her, watching the subtle expression pass over her face. Tilting her head curiously she frowned. A peculiar expression framed her eyes; one Gwaine was certain meant her words were not going to be comforting.

“It’s been tampered with. It possesses dark magic, see the magical symbols on the curves of the gun.” Topia beckoned Gwaine to come and sit beside her, eyes never leaving the weapon. Squinting, Gwaine attempted to make out the symbols she was speaking of. He was not the most knowledgeable on Druid symbols or anything Druid really, but he could see some very faint markings that bore no resemblance to Human tongue.

“You think maybe Morgause enchanted it back at Camelot?” Gwaine asked, crouching down beside the Clan leader, hand cupping his bearded face.

They shared a glance which quickly became an intense stare. Her turquoise eyes met his caramel eyes. It was no secret that Topia was a very beautiful, striking woman. As Clan leader she had a tough, determined exterior that was a contrast against her radiant smooth skin. Her eyes were captivating and Gwaine pretended that she hadn’t caught his eye from the day the Clans arrived in Iaonem before the Battle of Breguoin. Despite wanting to divert his gaze, Gwaine found he couldn’t. His eyes were fixated on her face, the way the small beads of sunlight filtered through the trees above to sketch patterns on her face. To his relief, a voice called out from behind them.

“Ah, _there_ you two are!” Elätha remarked, appearing from behind the curtain of trees and vines. As he pushed his way through he noticed the proximity of the pair, and raised his eyebrows. Topia leapt up onto her feet and averted all her attention to the weapon. Gwaine remained where he was, feigning nonchalance rather well – until the Clan Leader continued with a coy smile.

“Gwen said I’d find you here,” pause. His eyes glinted mischievously and Gwaine tilted is head as if to say ‘I dare you’. Elätha did. “on your _date-”_

Standing, Gwaine shot the older man a look that could most probably kill if he’d found the right spell. Unfortunately Gwaine didn’t know any spells, so that was out of the question. Elätha grinned humourously, seemingly pleased by the reaction. Eyes darting towards Elätha who was still grinning like a child, Topia regained composure.

“-A _date_ -?” her eyes moved towards Gwaine.

“- _No,_ it was just to stop people following us up here!” Gwaine deflected, rather poorly if the next voice was anything to go by.

“You, _date_ – you honestly think we’d miss this after what happened _last time_?” A curly haired male chimed from behind Elätha. Beside him a tanned, handsome male shrugged innocently; the smirk on his face counteracted the gesture.

“What happened last time?” the dark haired woman asked promptly, the words testing Gwaine’s patience further.

And _again,_ Arthur had _promised_ not to tell that bloody story! He really was going to murder Arthur when he returned, Once and Future or not. After imagining precisely twenty-one different ways to kill Arthur Pendragon, Gwaine decided it was time to communicate with the real world before things escalated out of control and the _story_ was retold.

“Nothing.” he retorted gruffly, glowering at his two friends. “And it’s _not_ a date-”

“-Then why did you say it was-?” Topia begun; there was something unfamiliar in her expression.

“-Just. _Forget it_.” Pointing towards the gun, Gwaine grimaced. “There are more important things to discuss here.”

“Right you are.” Topia said, face unusually flushed. Her eyes were bright with confusion and curiosity all at once. It was difficult to tell whether these emotions were directed towards the weapon or towards the rugged man beside her. Somehow, she managed to convince the group that it was strictly for the gun.  

“It’s plausible that Morgause was behind this.” She agreed. “But it would have to be a powerful spell,” wiping a strand of dark hair off her face, Topia sighed in perplexity. “There are very few who could conjure magic of this caliber and darkness.”

“Morgause _was_ powerful,” Elätha confessed with darkness to his voice. “According to Balinor, she was a very gifted witch indeed. Not like Emrys, but _very_ talented. I have no doubt that she could have done this.”

Humming in agreement, Leon took a step forwards to observe the gun.

“It makes sense considering she’s been working at Camelot for years. She worked on the magical extractors, on removing the Naiimen Barrier, something like this,” He picked it the gun. The he put it back down once he saw everyone visibly flinch away in his peripheral vision. “This is _child’s play_ for her.”   

“I don’t understand why she would strive to make something that would persecute her own kind.” Topia seemed unnerved and distressed by all of this information, evidently knowing less about Morgause than the others.

Turning to her over his shoulder, Gwaine frowned. The words unsettled him, particularly in light of his conversation earlier with Guinevere. This weapon had been made to do just that – to _hurt_ and physically torture a Druid. Merlin’s condition was deteriorating rapidly.

“Gaius said he’s been having fits, unable to control his magic. The more he uses magic the weaker he gets, but he’s no longer in _control_ of his magic.” The memory of Merlin’s violent outbursts yesterday triggered animation in Gwaine. He too got to his feet and began pacing rather maladroitly. Topia’s eyes widened and she responded cautiously.

“ _That’s_ the interesting thing, because a normal illness does not affect a Druid’s magic at all, it only attacks the body.” Her explanation caused him to pause in his tracks; realisation hit him hard in the face. He staggered backwards before regaining his balance. When he was sure his feet wouldn’t betray him, he focused attention on the woman.

“You don’t think there’s a cure.”

Bowing her head at the admission, Topia refrained from any verbal response. But her body language was enough to deduce that he was right. She couldn’t be _right_ about this though. Gaius had said the Mortius Flower would _heal_ Merlin. There _was_ a chance. Shaking his head dismissively, Gwaine swallowed-hard, attempting to regulate his heartbeat.

“The Mortius Flower can reverse the effects.” Leon said confidently, not daring to gaze over at Topia. “It contains a special antitoxin proven to-”

“-That is true.” She eventually concluded, cutting Leon off from his scientific, knowledgeable deductions. “Yet this flower, it is _very rare._ I know the Once and Future will do his best to find it, but I do not know of one Druid who ever has found one for over a hundred years.” The words struck Gwaine hard in his stomach, then his chest, and suddenly his legs were a little unsteady. Lance moved forwards in concern to support him. The facts weren’t promising at all.  

Elätha lowered himself to the ground to inspect the gun, not reacting to the dismal words.

“There’s a strange marking around the bullet hole,” he called up to his friends who huddled around the weapon. Around the mouth of the gun, there was a slight discolouration of the metal around it. The metal was chipped and looked as if it had been burnt. Only there were no signs of charring. Leaning over Elätha’s head, Topia’s eyes flashed ochre. In a split second the metal instantly changed colour. The odd marking became illuminated in dark black for all to see. It swept around the entire bullet hole ominously. Reaching out, Elätha stroked his fingers over it. He winced as his fingers met a strange slime.

He wiped it on the grass beside him swiftly. Topia narrowed her eyes, examining the substance. Leon was now leaning close into the weapon opposite her.

“It seems like this was activated once the gun was fired.” He muttered, hesitantly leaning over to touch it.

“It looks a lot like…” gazing up to Elätha, Topia frowned. A crease formed between her brows. “Naemon magic.”

“So it’s _not_ a myth?!” Leon exclaimed in fascination.

“It can’t be; that’s _impossible_.” Elätha snapped a little too flippantly for the rest of them to ignore.

“What’s Naemon magic?” Gwaine asked, feeling as if he was missing out on important information. Raking a hand through a strand of dark braided hair, Topia reluctantly began to tell the tale.

“It was said that many millennia ago, when the Naiimen lived in Albion, that there was a dark order of forces; the Naemon. The Naemon practiced dark magic, magic that blackened the land and sucked the life from its surroundings, even the users themselves. It was a relentless evil. This evil threatened to destroy the Naiimen legacy, _everything_ the Naiimen had strived for. They fought for Albion. Years later, the Naiimen vanquished the Naemon for good.” Gwaine sensed there was a ‘but’ to this story. It seemed he was correct. Elätha shuffled uncomfortably on the ground.

“Many believed that the Naemon continued to live, that they sheltered themselves away from the Naiimen. Over centuries their practices dwindled and became nothing but a whisper. But the Naemon traditions were passed down to a select few who acquired these dark spells.”

“What does that mean for _Merlin?”_ Lancelot asked quickly, concern etched onto his face.

“Nothing,” Topia replied softly, obviously troubled and attempting to conceal it. “…and everything.”

“We can’t _prove_ that the Neoman magic actually survived.” Elätha bellowed suddenly, clearly fazed by all of this.

“How do you explain this then?” the woman’s voice rose in pitch and volume, alarming them all. The undertone of panic was enough to fluster the atmosphere around. “Observe. This,” she picked up some of the dark slime and smeared it over the tips of her fingers. “ _This_ is magic. This is magic pushed to its limits cruelly without care, this is magic stretched and tortured, this is magic _decomposing_ from sheer exhaustion.” Pause. The group blinked at her strange analogy. “You can’t _feel it…_ ”

Elätha winced at the words unwillingly. He understood what she meant by this, he didn’t have magic. He couldn’t cast spells, he couldn’t _feel_ magic. It was a tragedy. On his seventh birthday, his mother had wept the entire day because he failed his initiation. The next year after that he failed again; by the age of eight it was _normal_ for a druid child to at least be able to cast a few simple spells. It wasn’t that he wasn’t _trying,_ he just couldn’t _find magic –_ magic had never reached out to him. A Druid without magic; his lips tightened. It was pathetic. His father had _almost_ taken the throne from him and appointed somebody else with magic. And yet he was a Clan Leader, in a magical world, _born_ in a magical world. It was a mystery, one nobody ever would solve or understand. Topia appeared to have noticed the offence she had caused and softly smoothed a hand over his shoulder sympathetically.

“We need to take this to Gaius now.” Leon picked up the gun much to the protest of all around him, unaware of the silent dialogue occurring between Topia and Elätha. With that Elätha and Leon disappeared into the trees, Lancelot close behind them. Gwaine assumed Topia had followed, until he felt a shoulder nudge his own.

“This Naemon stuff doesn’t sound good.” He exhaled deeply.

“It isn’t. But Merlin _will_ be fine.” She assured. When he raised an eyebrow at her, dejection on his face, Topia explained. “There was only a small concentration of the magic on the gun. Merlin’s lucky that whoever did this is not very experienced…we’re _all_ lucky.”  

“Do you think it was Morgause?” he asked, lowering his voice despite nobody else being around. Meeting his eyes, Topia drew her lips into a stern line.

“If it was, then we needn’t worry.”

“Because she’s dead.” Gwaine added, although something in his voice was lacking. His eyes were vacant, staring at the horizon with no real focus. His body was motionless and still, he seemed lost in thought. She noticed the absence of conviction in his tone, but said nothing on the matter. Topia began to walk towards the trees, away from Gwaine. That was when Gwaine sprung back into life, turning to face her. Any sign of worry or strain faded from his complexion, leaving his usual demeanour people had come to love and appreciate.

“If you wanted to ask me on a date, you only had to ask you know.”

Drawing her eyebrows together, Topia rolled her eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself Gwaine.” She teased. Yet there was a small twitch of her lips that she couldn’t control; it revealed a hidden smile. “Besides _you_ told Gwen it was a date.” Her eyes flickered with mirth. “What did Lance and Leon mean by ‘last time’-”

Gwaine hauling her by the arm away from the ruins of Iaonam.

“I think it’s time we left, and I will _never_ disclose that information.”

**♦☼♦**

With a whisper, Arthur conjured a golden orb of light that hovered around him and revealed his surroundings. To his left, rocks and rubble blocked the way, leaving him no choice but to go left. It was eerie and silent, hardly resembling a Cave at all. There were no traces of the features expected, until he found himself a few footsteps later in a circular clearing. Sunlight trickled down through the many holes in the ceiling, providing angular – yet efficient – light. For Arthur, it was enough to begin his search. The orb slowly trickled out of existence, disintegrating in the air.

Shards of magnificent crystal – hypnotic and alluring – lay scattered beneath his feet and all around. He cast a glance hesitantly towards them, admiring their curious glisten. As the sunlight touched them, they whispered for attention. They craved to be cradled and gazed into. They seemed so harmless and beautiful, sprinkled around his surroundings. Some shards were so miniscule, acting as mere individual grains of sand would on a beach. But others were still relatively in tact, a rare few bigger than his hand. Arthur walked a little further into the clearing, studying the enigmatic crystals around.

He’d heard all about the powers of these crystals, what they could do, what they did to those chosen to look into them. Merlin had looked into them; it had shown him so much in just a few seconds. He refused to talk much about his experience with the Crystals; when he did it was evident he was withholding information. Crouching down on the ground, Arthur ran his hands over a shard of Crystal. The texture was smooth, and extremely cold.

It was then as he cautiously gazed around the clearing that an idea came into his head. It was a stupid idea to say the least, but an idea created from the best of intentions. The clearing around, it was all that was left of the Cave. If the Mortius Flower was here, it was going to be a task to find. The Crystals, they saw into the _future._ Perhaps the Crystals would show Arthur where the flower was? He instantly heard a voice in his head berating this idea. It was _ridiculous._ For one, the Crystals didn’t share their secrets with everyone. He hardly doubted the crystals would be willing to help him, after all he was the _reason_ many of them were scattered across the ground in pieces.

But it was a chance _wasn’t it?_

If they _did_ how him the future then he could _find_ the flower’s location surely. It could show him how to save Merlin. He picked up one of the Crystals from the ground, staring at it intensely. As he got onto his feet, all he saw was his own reflection gazing back. He remained this way for another minute, _hoping_ that Albion and magic would give him a chance and _help him_ save Emrys. Nothing happened. The Crystal remained cold, lifeless, _hopeless._ It wouldn’t help him. Of _course_ it wouldn’t. He had magic, but no enough for the Crystals to accept. Angrily, he tossed the Crystal across the clearing, flinching as it crashed against the stone and cracked terminally into bits.

A helpless sound escaped his lips, resembling a broken sob. _Merlin._ He was dying. They had _days_ to find this fucking flower, and yet it seemed impossible to find. Desperately, Arthur dived to the ground, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The Mortius Flower was small, discreet and modest. Considering the degree of its powers it was not what one expected. According to Gaius, it had yellow petals, and drooped its head a little as if saddened by its isolated life inside a chamber of unknown futures and foretold destinies.

It was big enough to fit into the palm of a hand, small enough to overlook or dismiss as a discolouring of the ground of a trick of the eyes. That was its danger. It could save Merlin’s life – but only if it _wanted_ to be found. Searching between the rocks, Crystals and rubble, he felt his heart racing. Still nothing. This clearing was not the largest; it would take an hour or so to search. If the flower didn’t appear he was unsure what he would do. He didn’t realise he was still holding onto a chunk of Crystal until his eyes latched onto it. By the time he _did_ realise, eyes gazing into the Crystal, it was too late to look away.

The Crystal started to reveal its secrets, slowly at first. The transparent images waned before Arthur had time to understand them. He could hear the whispering of his name echo through the Cave. Then the pictures, _the possible future,_ suddenly became more apparent. The images were blurred; the sounds muffled but there were moments that were _so_ clear, so _real._ As it all started to unfold Arthur established that this was _truly_ a horrible idea. He _really_ didn’t want to see the future, and he was only expecting the Crystals to show him the _near_ future, as in where the _flower_ would be. It was doing quite the contrary. Dropping the Crystal in shock, Arthur moved away from it rapidly. _Shit._ His eyes could not erase what they had seen. _Shit._ He swallowed-hard, gazing down at the inanimate Crystal vigilantly. It was now nothing but a beautiful, mysterious rock.

Stepping backwards slowly, one shaking hand held to his throbbing head, the other clasping the hilt of Excalibur, Arthur attempted to feign normalcy. But how the hell could he after _that?_ Now Arthur was used to unnatural phenomenon by now, Albion was full of it, yet the Crystals had a different atmosphere. It was haunting, formidable. A wave of panic swept over him, followed swiftly by guilt. He shouldn’t have looked, of _course_ he shouldn’t have looked! The Crystals wouldn’t reveal the Mortius Flower to him; they were more concerned with far bigger issues. He recalled Will’s words, the Crystals weren’t _always_ accurate. Most of what was seen never came to actually pass, but the fact that some of it _did…_ Arthur continued to walk backwards. When he heard the peculiar crackling beneath his feet, the rough, calloused texture accompanying the sound, he slowly gazed down.

It was then it hit him.

Frantically, his eyes studied the ground. It was littered with Crystals, shards of Crystals _everywhere._ But it wasn’t. Oh no. There weren’t _just_ broken Crystals; he was walking on eggshells. They had a similar appearance to the Crystals, easy to overlook and mistake. Now he could _see it,_ they didn’t look similar at all. It wasn’t hard to deduce what the offspring were. Swiftly he pulled out his sword, eyes wide and heart racing. A soft, untamed hissing entered his ears. Turning around, Arthur saw his exit blocked by three curious, human-sized snakes. To be more precise-  baby Basilisks. Their features were far less intimidating, their teeth and scales sharp but not a match to the beast he had faced in the darkness. The central Basilisk tilted its head, staring at Arthur intensely.

Meekly, Arthur pursed his lips together and distanced himself from them. They slithered forwards; Arthur gripped his sword tighter in front of him, making no verbal or physical communication with the creatures. They all gazed at the sword and flinched back a little at it. One of the Basilisks, the one in the middle, slid closer to the blonde man. For starters, it didn’t look happy. In fact, it seemed to be _angry._ Ah yes. Well he had killed the parent hadn’t he? Swallowing-hard, Arthur jolted forwards, sword in front of him. The creatures hissed, unfazed by the weapon and circled him. Arthur felt disorientated. The sunlight was scare and trickled through in small jets of light. Each one of these creatures were fast and agile; they were moving so fast that whenever Arthur caught sight of one, he lost sight of the other two. Unnerved he slashed his sword clumsily around him.

The serpents filtered out, giving him a bit more space. It wasn’t comforting at all. In fact, it was _extremely_ terrifying. Darting his eyes between the two he had managed to latch onto, Arthur inhaled sharply. He had to _get out._ One of the serpents leapt forwards viciously, narrowly missing him. As Arthur dived out the way, he watched as the creature pummeled into the stone behind him with immense force. That is _of course_ when the whole internal structure began rumbling rather menacingly. Heart racing, Arthur gazed up at the rocky, unstable ceiling above. It suddenly became clear _just_ how unstable this place actually was. The Basilisks followed his actions, gazing curiously up to the trembling rocks, the noise around them. As the ground shook, Arthur took his chance.

He surged forwards through the creatures and down the cave tunnel leading to that narrow climb upwards. All around he could hear it, the collapsing of stone on stone, the crashing, thunderous noise. One of the serpents was close behind him, slithering expertly through the tunnel.

“ _KILGARRAH_!” Arthur roared in his mind and out loud, stumbling clumsily out of the way of the rubble that was trickling down above him.

_Kilgarrah, lower your tail now!_

It was all descending into the hand of chaos too quickly. Arthur was unsure what or where exactly he was on its chessboard. Unnerved he continued running until he met the dead end beside the steep rocky trail upwards. He came to a halt, panting. The serpents behind him lunged, he ducked just in time. They collided with the stone ahead, creating more tremors in the ground. Panic swept through Arthur. He had _seconds_ until he would be buried in here, trapped. He dived towards the narrow passageway, cutting his palm as he did so on a jagged piece of rock. Relief pummeled through him as he felt familiar scales _finally._ Wrapping his hands around the scales, Arthur clenched his eyes shut.

The sound was overwhelming. He could feel shards of rock exploding all around him, trying to crush his body and keep him trapped in here. He felt sharp splinters of Crystal slash across his skin and slice through effortlessly. Then there was an almighty thunderous noise. He felt something thud against his back – or was _he_ falling? It was unclear. Opening his eyes, Arthur gazed up to see the Golden Dragon towering over him. He lowered his head for a moment, gasping in air that was still littered with dust and particles of miniscule stone. Behind Kilgarrah, the remains of the Cave were engulfed in a smoky haze forged from the brutal collision of rocks and debris.

It was gone; it was _all_ gone.

Arthur ignored the twinge of pain of his bleeding palm. He set aside the fatigue plaguing his body. He got to his feet swiftly, dashing past Kilgarrah to gaze at the ruins before him. It broke him. The Crystal Cave, every last remnant had been destroyed in the final collapse of the structure. There was nothing left. Nothing was left but dust, clumps of cold callous rock. The stench of immeasurable failure clouded his lungs, choked him. Without warning Arthur fell to his knees and was unable to hold back the keening sound in his throat. Once the strange, raw sound echoed through his ears, he attempted to suppress it. He disliked the sound, it was reminder of what had happened, what he’d _done._ Merlin was going to die. _Merlin._ Merlin was going to die. It was all his fault.

In a fit of uncontrollable rage, Arthur lifted himself to his feet and yelled viciously into the sky. He took Excalibur from his belt and tossed it almost carelessly aside. It didn’t matter now. _Nothing_ mattered now. The Crystal Cave was gone. Merlin was _gone._ No. Merlin _wasn’t_ gone, not yet. He still had a few days. But that was all he had left, because Arthur had _failed._ He had fucking failed the one person that meant the world to him, the one person who had _never_ failed him. He cast one final glance towards the remains of the Cave. Then he turned swiftly on his heel, and began walking at a frantic pace. He was stopped abruptly in his tracks as Kilgarrah landed in front of him. He wore a deadly expression.

“You looked into the Crystals.” He said in a low tone, _disappointment_ almost prevailing.

Swallowing-hard, Arthur glowered at the Dragon. So what did it matter if he had? It didn’t matter now; nothing mattered at all anymore. He attempted to brush past the Dragon. But of course, it was _impossible_ to simply brush past a creature this big and intent on talking about things that simply did not matter at all right now. Gazing up at the Dragon, Arthur sighed.

“I thought it would show me the flower-” the admission sparked a dark rage in the Dragon. He roared into the sky furiously before suddenly lowering his head right to Arthur’s level.

“-You cannot simply _look_ into the Crystals. Only those chosen are granted such things, you have betrayed Albion’s trust!”

Well, Arthur had never seen it that way. Narrowing his eyes, he leant towards the Dragon, fairly certain Kilgarrah wasn’t going to roast him or bite his head off despite the wildness in his eyes.

“The Crystals showed _me…”_ averting his eyes, Arthur hitched his breath. He had tried not to remember what he had seen, but it was _too much._ Regaining composure quickly he continued. “They showed _me!_ They didn’t _have to-”_

“-It seems I misjudged you Young Pendragon.” Kilgarrah shouted with a rumbling growl almost overpowering his words. “How can the Once and Future lack so much respect for the sacred relics of Albion? You bear the same arrogance as your father-”

“- _No. No…”_ Arthur’s feisty retaliation dwindled into oblivion before it had even begun. The words were charred and disintegrated as they hit the air. Kilgarrah’s harsh words shouldn’t have affected Arthur so much. But they did. It was a like a stab wound to the chest, a gunshot to his head. He felt dizzy, _guilt_ smothered his soul; it crept into every tiny crevasse until it completely consumed him. _Like his father._ His father. Oh, he hadn’t even had time to _think_ about his Uther Pendragon, his death. Everything had happened so swiftly. Now it all exploded in his mind, thundering around his head. Uther Pendragon was dead. _Merlin_ would soon be dead. How could he go back to Iaonem, without a cure, without _hope?_

Then it hit him.

He couldn’t go back.

A shudder passed through his body. He gazed up at the Dragon whose stern expression suddenly faltered.

“You have much to learn Young Pendragon,” his voice was soothing and a vast contrast to what it had been. “Sometimes the best intentions lead to the very worst of all things. On this occasion, I am willing to gift you with something very few ever receive.”

Drawing his eyebrows together in confusion, Arthur speculatively studied the Dragon. He was about to enquire as to what exactly this was, but then a hot gust of air swept over him, spewing from the Dragon’s mouth. It rushed through every strand of his hair, over his dirty skin and through his entirety. He opened his eyes cautiously as the sensation faded. Kilgarrah nodded gently, gazing at the blonde man before him.

“You will not remember what you saw, for it was never yours to see.” With that the Dragon began walking back towards Aithusa who had stirred and was beginning to wake from her healing slumber.

Out of all of this, one thing hit Arthur more than anything. Kilgarrah seemed completely _oblivious_ to the most important thing- Arthur hadn’t found the Mortius Flower. The Flower wasn’t here. If it was it was now crushed between thousands of heavy stones. Yet Kilgarrah was _almost casually_ continuing as if this had not come to pass. Arthur felt a series of emotions wash over him. The first was surprise, a bitter surprise one that stung his eyes and allowed Hope to evapourate. Was this Kilgarrah’s way of accepting a dark fate? The second emotion was _confusion-_ because why on earth was there no urgency, no sense of something _colossal._ The third and final emotion that refused to leave him was fury. How _dare_ Kilgarrah act this way when Merlin was _dying –_ on the brink of death!

Furiously, Arthur marched forwards to catch up with the Dragon. The sunlight blared down upon him.

“That’s it then?” He whispered more to himself hopelessly, watching as pieces of his heart fluttered over the horizon. When the Dragon made no response other than to pause in its tracks, Arthur took this as a horrific sign.

“Then it is over.” He shrieked, shrugging dismissively into the sky. Tears stained his eyes, the blood and dirt on his skin no longer significant. “After all this, after all we’ve done. I’ve _failed him_!” a wretched sound escaped. “Merlin is going to die.”

“You have only failed when you accept that to be the absolute truth.” Kilgarrah replied enigmatically, swinging its neck around to glance over to a shaken Arthur.

False hope was not kind; it was cruel. Arthur knew that much from experience more than anything. False hope that he could stop his father from destroying Ealdor, false hope that he could stop Gaius going to the labs….Whatever Kilgarrah was doing, he didn’t like it. Flinging his arm over to gesture towards the destroyed Cave, Arthur grimaced.

“Kilgarrah the Cave is _gone!_ Any trace of the flower is now buried beneath tonnes of stone.” Arthur paused abruptly having to catch his voice before it crumbled dramatically. It was already wavering unsteadily. “There is nothing we can do now, it’s over.”

The Dragon stood silently for a moment, musing over the Young Pendragon. Then he spoke once again, deviating into the tongue of riddles and wisdom that Arthur truly _didn’t_ want to hear or understand.

“Only if you wish it to be so. Then it will pass-”

“-What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur raised his voice. The unclear nature of the words merely fed the explosive state he was in. “Why would I _wish_ that?!”

“You still believe that there is hope.” Another voice said calmly. Whilst Arthur was _relieved_ to see Aithusa was well recovered, he was _not_ relieved to hear the words that spewed from the White Dragon’s mouth. “You have to convince Albion herself of this.”

Gaze flickering between the two Dragons, Arthur ran a hand through his hair in frustration before addressing them again.

“So we’re all speaking in riddles now are we?” indignantly, he huffed and began marching away from the beasts. “I don’t have time for this.”

“This quest is not measured against time; it is measured against the courage of your heart.”

At Kilgarrah’s words, Arthur halted and spun around once more. Exasperated he sighed. Desperation overcame him.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” He admitted bleakly, eyes watery and soul crushed. What _was_ he supposed to do now? The extent of the situation was still raw and fresh; it hadn’t quite sunk in yet. He was terrified about what would happen when it did. “The Flower isn’t here, the Crystal Cave has _gone.”_

“And yet,” Kilgarrah began softly. “Magic did not die the day the Cave fell, it continued to live on.”

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur titled his head. Whilst that was true, he failed to see what exactly that had to do with the flower and _Merlin._ Kilgarrah said no more. He outstretched his wings and lifted into the air, heading towards Iaonem. Arthur wondered what he would tell them, that Arthur had failed, that there was no _hope._ Gazing over towards Aithusa, Arthur frowned. She looked radiant, dazzling white scales in the sunlight. Her strength had returned, and there was a kindness in her eyes that he felt he truly did not deserve right now. Dejectedly, he leant against her sturdy legs for support, unable to stand on his shaking knees.

_“Arfuera,_ you will save him.”

“How?!” he cried dismally, bringing a hand up fiercely to brush against his wet eyes.

Lowering her head, the White Dragon smiled gently. Her words ignited the repressed hope and life inside him. It was impossible _yes,_ but Albion was an enigma constantly proving the impossible to be possible. Climbing onto her back, Arthur picked up Excalibur and gazed out towards the horizon. Aithusa flew majestically into the air, soaring up into the sky. Arthur relished the feeling of the crisp air against his face. His heart was beating again, he was breathing again. They didn’t have much time, but it was clear. He couldn’t _give up_ now. Despite the odds, he just couldn’t abandon Merlin. He was going to _save him._ Aithusa’s words resonated through his head.

“Don’t doubt yourself, you already know what we must do.”

She was right; nothing had ever been so clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify:
> 
> The Naiimen - ancient Druids of Albion. Said to have built the barrier that protected Albion from the outside world (The Naiimen Barrier). Also many references to them are made by Merlin in several chapters of the story. 
> 
> The Naemon - ancient Druids of Albion that practiced the darkest of all magic. They were defeated by the Naiimen in a great battle...or so it was believed they were.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW sorry it has been a while, I wrote most of this chapter ages ago but haven't had time to finish it. I've been really busy!
> 
> I just want to say again THANK EVERYONE for reading. We've only got 2 chapters left D: I'M SO SAD!
> 
> It's been a blast! I'm pretty busy atm though so the final two chapter may be drawn out a bit cos I want to make it good. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this one :)

 

 

Merlin had lost all of his senses. Despite lack of visions, he could feel his body cascading through a black abyss with nothing above him or nothing below him. In fact to describe the abyss as black would be inaccurate too. No matter how hard Merlin tried to focus his eyes on his surroundings, which was incredibly difficult considering the circumstances (falling!), he saw nothing. Nothing is terribly problematic to describe for it bears no colour, no texture, no _life._ Thus, all that Merlin could establish is simply that he is falling. The rate at which he is falling is unclear too, for how can he know if there isn’t anything to compare his speed to?

It was strange, because Merlin _could_ hear voices slipping into his ear’s focus every now and then. They resonated in his mind like vibrant pings of sound that quickly dwindled into the background, getting lost in the abyss around him. But that was all it was, voices. No background specifics to the environment just echoed voices that sounded so far away to him…so _far away._

It stayed like that for some time, until suddenly every cell in his body becomes active and he feels that rush of electricity sparking up in his skin. It’s instinctive and it happened before he even could register it. He doesn’t try to stop it, despite his predicament – he assumed he wasn’t conscious judging by the strange floating state he was in – because one thing completely overrules _all_ of his logic and sense. Arthur. _Always_ Arthur. That name, it sets in motions the chain of violent magic he can’t control. He can feel his body writhing and thrashing, he can feel a hand on his forehead trying to soothe him. And yet he can’t feel any of that at all, because he’s stranded, _so far away._

Arthur is in _danger,_ his Arthur! He can sense it in his very bones, his withering body. He feels a sudden tremor wreck through the unrealistic landscape around him. He couldn’t remember when the black abyss shifted into a surreal plain, resembling that of Breguoin. The ground split with a violent crack and the endless blue skyline descended into a dark chaos of shadowy clouds that growled and flashed with intense electrical bursts. Everything about the scene was crumbling, which was impossible. The tremors continued until the ground becomes unstable and he fell through it into darkness. _Arthur_ is in darkness. His eyes flash gold, his entire world shaking dramatically. The light in his palm illuminated everything around him. _Everything,_ but Arthur. He managed to sustain this for a few minutes, until exhaustion toppled over him. The light faded from his palm and he slipped further into the gap in the ground.

 _That_ was when he knew he was falling at a dangerous velocity.

**♦☼♦**

Once he had been to see Gaius, Arthur felt his body protest. It begged for rest, for sleep. He could not grant the request yet, of course. He _needed_ to know that Merlin would be safe, that everything would be okay now he’d done what he needed to do. Perching against a rock beside Merlin’s bed, Arthur frowned. It hadn’t been easy; he had definitely cut it a little fine. But he and Aithusa had done it. They’d bloody done it! Exhilaration rushed through him, igniting energy through his body. Merlin was going to be okay now; he had seen the expression on Gaius’ face as he had passed over the yellow flower. It was one of relief. That’s was all Arthur needed to see; he left Merlin’s side, seeking a place of solitude.

A great magnitude of gratitude that could not be voiced had followed Arthur around Iaonem as the news spread. He avoided the attention, finding a suitable alcove in the rocks uninhabited. He fell to the ground; hand on his head. Not that it was necessary to thank him; _of course_ he was going to save Merlin. He didn’t need thanking for it; he loved Merlin. Merlin was _everything,_ there was no way he was going to give his everything up so easily and without a fight. After all that the people of Albion had been through, that Merlin and Arthur had been through, it seemed almost a bit _insulting_ for fate to think it could pull a stunt like that and get away with it.

Or to be more precise: his father. Uther Pendragon. A shudder swept over his skin. It had all escalated so quickly after the battle. Arthur hadn’t had time to mourn, to _think_ about anything. The memory of his father jumping off the mountainside got worse the more he recalled it.

Pushing his face into his hands, Arthur sighed. There could have been another way, maybe. His father didn’t have to jump and make a bold statement so cruel and ruthless. But he did it anyway. It was rather fitting that he would taunt and punish Arthur, even after death. Morgana was right, he hadn’t jumped for himself; he had jumped for _Arthur._ This was no gesture of respect or love either. It was quite the contrary, a _victory._ Yes, Albion had won the great battle of Breguoin – Camelot were leaving. In fact most of them had left. But there was one man who would never leave Albion, his memory forever engraved in the land itself; Uther Pendragon. The pain and suffering he had induced, the _destruction –_ it would never be forgotten, _never._ And Arthur _still_ felt sadness, _grief_ beyond anything he’d ever admit in front of the Druids or Morgana.

He and his father had always been dysfunctional, that was the Pendragon way. Family had been perceived more as a line of inheritance and stature. Nonetheless, there had been many moments where Uther had proved he wasn’t the cold mechanical father Morgana described. There had been times where he would hold a broken Arthur when he cried, like when he was eleven and it was mother’s day and everyone else was making cards and asking why he wasn’t, and put him back together again with a few words. There was one Christmas when Arthur was seventeen, his _favourite_ Christmas, where Uther had laughed and laughed at Arthur’s bad jokes and absently ruffled a hand through his blonde curls as he sipped his wine. It was these memories that _hurt_ the most, because they meant so much and so little simultaneously.

Arthur didn’t realise he had burst into a fit of sobs until his body was curled in on itself and he was inhaling ragged breaths in uneven gasps. He felt the thick grief release from his tense muscles and exit his aching bones. He cried, and _cried_ and cried. He’d never cried like this before, so openly and without any signs of wavering in intensity. It consumed his whole body, his _soul,_ his mind and his heart. His father’s death is a reminder of all those he failed in Albion, all those people he watched die because his own stubbornness and pride prevented him from taking action sooner. It reminded him of all those who had fallen in the battle, some barely of age. It reminded him of William, who had valiantly taken a bullet for him. _Will._ This made him think of Merlin, spurring more wretched tears. What would _Merlin_ think of him? He had destroyed Ealdor, ripped apart the People’s faith and messily sewn it back together, and allowed Merlin’s best friend in the whole world to _die._

Allowed, it was an interesting word. It suggested that Arthur had _intentionally_ caused all of this, that he had taken a step back and been a mere observer in the events that had come to pass. Whilst this was not true, Arthur felt like that’s what he had been for far too long. He coughed violently as his tears started to choke his throat, swelling up and dramatically bursting out of his mouth like capsules that catapulted against the land and ruined everything around it. He doesn’t realise that he is not alone until there is the sound of shuffling beside him. Opening his eyes slowly, he gazed miserably over to the sound. The sight faltered the awful sorrow he can’t control, replacing it with a shaky smile.

The White Dragon sat on the stone, gazing over at Arthur silently, a pleading look on her face. Beside the Dragon was Arthur’s large Wyvern Bregurófne. It nuzzled close to him, a low humming resonating from its chest. Arthur gently ran his hands over the scaly skin of his Wyvern. It had been a while since he had seen Bregurófne, _too long._ Bregurófne was one of the first creatures he’d met in this world that granted, _had_ tried to kill him at first, but only because it _didn’t_ want to kill him. The very concept defied all logic and yet Arthur wouldn’t have it any other way. It was then Arthur noticed another familiar creature, nestled on his shoulder. Laughing lightly through a sniffle, Arthur gazed over to see Ábilgest. Its wide lilac eyes were focused on him, and if a fluffy red bird could look concerned then it was fair to say Ábilgest _was_ concerned.

Funny, Arthur had never been an animal person back in Camelot. But now, the thought of not having these friends was a horrible one. Ábilgest hopped from Arthur’s shoulder onto Bregurófne’s head and nestled there comfortably. Honestly, Arthur was constantly perplexed by the odd duo. Aithusa finally spoke, breaking the silence that no longer was full of remorse.

“Gaius has administered the flower, Merlin will be waking soon.” She explained. “ _You_ did what no-one else could, you saved Emrys from a dark magic.”

“Now you’re just being nice to make me feel better.” Arthur said in a light tone, eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t fresh tears. He reached for the fluffy red bird, patting it on the head gently.

“It is okay to feel sorrow for those who have passed,” Aithusa admitted knowingly. “Even those many believe don’t deserve any more of our grief.” Arthur lifted his head and swallowed-hard. He found himself quickly averting her gaze.

“Do not be _ashamed_ Arthur Pendragon, Once and Future of Albion. He was your father; he raised you.” The blonde man clenches his jaw tightly, wincing. “The ability to see beyond darkness - that is what makes you special.”

“Most would say it is weak and foolish.” Arthur replied in a monotonous voice, sapphire eyes catching the light over the horizon. He knew Morgana would be livid for one, to find him sitting in solitude crying over a man he once called father, the man who had caused the Druid’s suffering, lied all these years and caused Merlin’s illness.

“It is never weak or foolish to respect another life, no matter what path they chose.” Aithusa lowered voice softly. Pause. “She is proud of you, you know.”

Arthur didn’t need to ask to know who the ‘she’ was. He reached down for the necklace around his neck, tracing the metallic Merlin bird tenderly. Igraine Pendragon, his mother, his _beautiful_ mother. A smile found its way onto his face. Then he noticed the odd way Aithusa had phrased her words, as if she had been in communication with the woman. Lifting his head, Arthur glanced at the Dragon speculatively. Hope dusted his eyes.

“Will I see her again?” he asked bluntly.

Aithusa sighed.

“She has passed beyond the reach of Albion now,” Arthur pressed the necklace to his lips, kissing it devotedly. He would have loved to see her again, but to hear she was at peace truly calmed him. “She didn’t leave until she was sure you were safe, until she had seen her son become the great man that he was born to be. You have become that man Arthur, Igraine can now rest.”

At this moment, another voice sounded alerting the attention of Arthur. Morgana rushed into the private clearing, blissfully unaware of the private moment unfolding between Arthur and his mythological friends. The look in her eyes immediately roused him. Her words confirmed all he hoped, pushing him onto his feet frantically.

“It’s Merlin, he’s waking up.”

**♦☼♦**

He had hardly expected the reception he did as his heavy eyelids fluttered open and allowed sight back into his dark world. He could only assume he had _finally_ left the odd abyss he’d been trapped in. Everything about _this_ place was familiar, comforting, _home._

The sun was blinding overhead, and did not aid his pounding head or shaking limbs; he found he had to squint in order to retain this level of consciousness. A small sound slipped involuntarily from his mouth, he couldn’t hear it over the buzzing of his ears but he felt it and that was enough. His throat was sore; his larynx had been meticulously chiselled to itch at his skin uncomfortably like sandpaper each time he attempted to swallow the wave of nausea overpowering his system. Trying to sit up proved to be a mistake as the dizziness wrecked his body until he had no choice but to clumsily fall back down on the scratchy surface.

The sunlight was suddenly stripped away as familiar faces came into recognition. His friends; clan leaders; his mother. They were all here. He noticed a cinnamon-skinned woman, a rugged haired man and many others he was too exhausted to start identifying. His lips managed a sloppy, lazy smile whilst he searched for that one particular face. There was one person he _needed_ to see, to make sure he was safe. A wave of panic washed over him when he couldn’t see the face. As he thought about it – gosh _thinking_ really hurt right now – there was another important face missing. He was about to put a name to that face when the ringing in his ears faded away.

 _Sound_ came back to him next, distracting him and not allowing any chain of cognition to progress.

Voices. People. _Lots of people._ They were all talking, all talking _to him_ and he couldn’t understand a word of it. They were talking too loud, though he was certain they were whispering. This paradox confused him further. He tried to listen to what they were saying. It was too much. He was unsure how long he could stand this overpowering sensory overload. It didn’t take long for the details of their faces to dissolve away, leaving circular blurs dotting his vision against the sunlight that was _too bright._ Suddenly the faces were gone, and then he _heard that voice._ The one he hadn’t heard his whole time in this strange world of semi-consciousness. Desperately, he reached out with trembling fingers. The name spilled out in a mesh of jumbled noises, his tongue weighty and difficult to move without exerting too much energy.

The sensation of warm skin brushing against his fingers arrived in less than two quick heartbeats, clasping his hand. Weakly, he moved his stinging eyes over to the source of this intense, burning heat. The face was still blurred and he was _so frustrated_ that he can’t see it because he really does want to see it again. He hearda string of words calling out to him; that voice was gently speaking to him. He was incapable of untangling the cluttered syllables, the consonants from the vowels, and the words from the sentences. It was all _too much._ Before his vision completely failed him, he realised that the sun had created a golden halo around the blurred head.

That was enough reassurance to know that he was safe and that _the name_ was here with him. He felt his body pushing against his mind. He didn’t want to leave this world again; he’d only just found it again. He attempted to wrestle against his own body, which proved unproductive. The warmth by his hand spread to his forehead, and then back to his hand. The face muttered something in a smooth voice. It lulled him gently into the darkness.

This time he wasn’t falling; he was patiently floating on a sapphire sky in a wooden boat, waiting to be called back to reality once his body had recovered.

**♦☼♦**

Merlin was dazed, disorientated. That much was clear. Arthur had lunged forwards the moment that small noise had slipped past the man’s lips, indicating consciousness had returned. So had everyone else too, excited and relieved that Merlin was okay. The man lying on the makeshift bed looked far from well. His eyes were unfocused and glazed over. The fact he was squinted gestured he was having trouble with his senses. Arthur had reached for his hand and soothingly caressed it. Merlin made a noise, trying to reach him. A soft smile laced Arthur’s mouth. Merlin was _alive;_ he was going to be okay. It was then that Merlin shut his eyes and slipped back into darkness.

“He’s going to be like this for most of the day,” Gaius offered, after shooing the surplus amount of visitors from Merlin’s bedside, leaving only Arthur, Hunith, Gwen and Morgana. Arthur kept his hand on Merlin’s protectively, gazing down at the dark-haired man. Stirring a mixture together on the workbench, Gaius continued in a tone of voice that soothed Arthur. Gaius sounded more like himself, less on edge and full of assurance. It was good to see, for the first time in _months_ there was no oncoming threats or consequences. Now it seemed, they were close to the end of this great battle.

“He will be slipping in and out of consciousness.” Gaius noticed the concern sliding back onto Arthur’s face and spoke once more. A hand pressed into Arthur’s shoulder. Glancing up, he met Gaius’ kind eyes. “The illness has been stopped now Arthur, this is simply his body recovering from all it faced.”

With that, Gaius made his way back to the workbench. It was then that Gwen got to her feet.

“You should rest.” She said to Gaius, the rare sternness in her voice revealing it wasn’t a suggestion but more of an imperative. Raising an eyebrow, Gaius glanced between the woman who had helped him nurture Merlin the past few days and his patient, nephew, and beloved Merlin. She noticed the hesitance and smiled. “He will be fine. We will watch over him, you have barely slept the past few days.”

“Gwenevere is right,” Arthur admitted, taking his eyes off Merlin for a minute. “You have done _so much_ for him. Please, get some rest old friend.”

Nodding, Gaius cast his eyes once more over towards Merlin before leaving the area resignedly. Arthur could see his body relaxing as he walked, the fatigue slipping over the old man. It had been a hard few days for everyone. There had been no rest after the battle for many.  Hunith sat beside Arthur, face warm and eyes restored to what they once had been before the destruction of Ealdor. She didn’t need to say it aloud; Arthur understood and gently placed a hand around her shoulder comfortingly.

“I knew you would find it.” She whispered into his shoulder.

Gazing down at the woman, Arthur felt his lips twitch with a warm smile. The poor woman had seen too much suffering than fair. She was a kind, just woman, an inspiration. She had helped Arthur find his mother again. In the space of a month she had lost her husband, watched her home burn and have to deal with the prospect of possibly losing her only child. William had been like a son to her too, Arthur knew that much. Hunith had not taken Will’s death well at all, nor did Gwen. It made Arthur fearful as to how Merlin would take it. Will was his _best friend;_ they were like brothers. Hunith seemed to establish where Arthur’s trail of thoughts was leading, and she gently reached for the hand on her shoulder, clasping it. Somehow, the thoughts departed from Arthur at her touch.

Hunith’s words seemed to bring Morgana back to the world of the present. Her glassy eyes became more animated, more life-like. Arthur tried to hide his concern; he knew his sister had been spending too much time mastering her gifts. Merlin’s words of wisdom rang through his ears as he studied his sister’s face. It was Gwen’s voice that broke him from his stare.

“Was it hard to find?” the woman asked eagerly, finally meeting Arthur’s eyes.

Affection and gratitude was emanating from Gwen’s eyes. At the words Arthur scoffed. Hard to find, now _that_ was the understatement of the fucking year. If only they knew all he’d been through to get that stupid yellow flower. It had been a whole new adventure, although every day in Albion seemed like a new adventure. He was learning more and more each day. Not the mention the terrible battle that had passed less than four days ago. Now was not the time to think about the battle. Now was the time to focus on the present, the new age…the day _Merlin_ was going to be okay and nothing could prevent this from being true. Knowing that, Arthur allowed himself to ease into the new atmosphere. A grin spread over his face, instantly adding a glow to his weary face.

“You have _no idea_ ,” At the words, Gwen subconsciously leant forwards. “It was a bit like Godzilla actually now I think about it.”

“Godzilla?” Hunith appeared confused; Morgana smirked at the reference, apparently back with the world of the living and communicating. She hadn’t said a word yet though, not a _word_ to Arthur. He tried to pretend this didn’t concern him, but it did. For _once,_ he thought to himself, can you stop thinking like a bloody masochist and just _enjoy_ this moment of peace? He’d grieved enough; he’d _hurt_ enough. Surely it was time to put those emotions to rest, and bring to the surface the ones he’d longed to feel genuinely for _weeks._

“It’s a giant monster… _thing_ back in our world.” Arthur clarified vaguely. He shot his sister a threatening glare as she leant back in delight at his stuttering. Then noticing the alarm on Hunith’s face, Arthur quickly elaborated. “Erm, it’s strictly _fictional._ It was in a film.” Pause; Hunith still seemed entirely confused, clearly not accustomed to the word film. Two blinks later, fondness in his eyes, Arthur continued. “Anyway, so Aithusa and I met a Basilisk when we reached Ealdor _stop laughing Morgana it’s not funny_ -”

“-A _Basilisk_ of all things. This is priceless,” Morgana’s eyes lit up in glee and she turned to Gwen. “Arthur’s been afraid of Basilisk’s since he was a little boy. He used to make me check his _whole_ room before he’d-”

“- _Alright_ Morgana,” Arthur said through gritted teeth; she was enjoying the irony far too much. “We battled the Basilisk, well Aithusa did and then she got bitten so it was up to me. I don’t know _how_ but somehow I managed to kill the damn thing. And then as I went into the cave there were _baby_ Basilisks, three of them. I was stupid enough not to notice until they actually appeared, could barely tell the broken Crystals from the eggshells.”

The word Crystal ignited a subtle change in Morgana. Her smiled faded. The expression on her face was one Arthur couldn’t decipher, which unnerved him. Calculatedly she leant towards Arthur, eyes glinting with an almost knowing quality. Swallowing-hard, Arthur removed his arm from Hunith’s shoulder to clasp his hands together patiently.

“How exactly _did_ you find the flower? I mean something so _small_ in a cave that big-”

“-There wasn’t much left of the Crystal Cave, I’m sure I don’t need to explain why.” Arthur snapped a little petulantly, ignoring Morgana’s sly tilt of her head.

“All I’m asking is how you found it, no need to be so _defensive_ -” But no she wasn’t asking that _at all,_ Arthur wasn’t stupid. He understood her implications.

“-Remind me how exactly you killed Morgause?” he asked in response immediately silencing her. Two could play at that fucking game.

As soon as he said it he instantly regretted it, damn him and his instincts. Morgana never failed to bring out the best and worst in him. Gwen averted her gaze slowly, bowing her head. The tension around grew to an unbearable level. Morgana clenched her jaw tightly, eyes watery. It was a low blow, yes, but then Morgana shouldn’t have really been playing word games with him after _all this_. For a moment the pair shared a look unlike any they had shared before. Morgana smiled a little to take the edge of her sharp eyes. It didn’t really help. Arthur attempted to offer a silent apology, slipping it through the spaces between them. That didn’t really help much either.

It was at that moment, to Arthur’s _relief,_ that Gaius appeared from the entrance to the small clearing. He cast a look over to a resting Merlin before fixing his attention on Arthur.

“The Clan leaders have requested to speak with you.” Hell, right now Arthur didn’t need to be told twice, anything to escape the thick tension growing between him and his sister. He leapt onto his feet, casting Merlin one final, fleeting glance before dashing out of the clearing and into the busy, bustling Iaonem.

**♦☼♦**

Iaonem was cluttered with Druids. The whole settlement was brimming with tranquillity, peace and happiness that Arthur hadn’t even dared to _dream_ of many weeks ago. How so much had changed. As he passed through the Druids, many stopped to bow their heads in respect, others warmly pressed their palms against his skin in some kind of symbolical gesture of something Arthur supposed could be likened to gratitude. Then there were the children, some bashfully diving out of way whilst others remained motionless indignantly until they received some kind of reaction from their hero. _Hero._ Arthur disliked the word. Hero, it was such a misleading word.

It was only when he spotted Calhoun, the brave-hearted orphan Gwen had taken to, that Arthur noticed something was amiss in Iaonem. Calhoun was standing with Lancelot who was engrossed in carrying items, dismantling the makeshift homes around him. Many Druids had satchels slung over their backs, the belongings they had brought to the resistance all bundled up inside or in their hands. Some Druids had already summoned their Wyverns to the large trees hovering above the clearing. The creatures sat on the branches until they were needed, watching observantly. Arthur frowned; it was barely _midday._ Reaching the heart of the settlement, Arthur found himself churning against multitudes of people all moving and all too busy to notice who he was or to allow him to pass.

The familiarity of golden scales scintillating against the blinding sunlight was the only landmark he had in the crowd of people. After a few minutes of pushing through the bundle, Arthur made it to the other side. Gasping for air, for _space,_ Arthur held one hand to his hip as he took in the scene before him. Kilgarrah; Aithusa, the Clan leaders were all stood before him. He also noticed Gwaine standing between Topia and Elätha shamelessly despite the fact he was certainly _not_ a Clan Leader. He met Gwaine’s eyes, a playful exchange unfolded between them through subtle shifts of the lips. Then, Arthur turned to the leaders, studying all of them curiously, unable to figure out their motive for this ‘council’ – if that’s what it was called.

“Friends,” he said, bowing his head towards them; he was surprised as they returned the gesture. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that many of the Druids look like they are making leave.”

Eloŵen of the Serepolis Clan spoke first, his peculiar cerise eyes earning a rose-tint in the rays of the sun.

“Albion is safe, Emrys is safe. Now we can return to our homes and embrace the age of Emrys and the Once and Future.” A little stunned at the devotion in the man’s voice, and the fact that apparently he and Merlin had created a _new age,_ Arthur found he had no words.

It was logical of course, Iaonem was never supposed to be a permanent settlement. And there was no point in the Druids inhabiting just one segment of Albion. Each clan had different traditions, habits and ways of life. Whilst they had all put this aside for the mutual interest of protecting their world, the small frictions were beginning to show. The Freignt Clan, for instance, were reserved and calm. The Balegkor Clan were outspoken and _loved_ to sing (badly). The Čeirda clan were solitary Druids, who attempted to disengage with others; the Ealdor Clan were a shadow of their jolly selves, just beginning to revive their livelihood. Of course, Arthur _knew_ they all would be returning to their homes. He just hadn’t expected it to come so soon.

He also knew that this would no doubt trouble the Ealden people, because they no longer _had_ a place to call home. Ealdor was gone; _it was all gone._ Flickering his gaze between the Clan Leaders, Arthur smiled.

“It has been an honour,” he admitted. “I wish you safe passage back to your homes, and pray we all meet again,” Topia’s eyes twinkled with amusement and Arthur suddenly established he might have articulated himself poorly. “I mean,” he began quickly. “In different circumstances _of course.”_

Cheeks a little flushed, he sighed. Why wasn’t Merlin up and ready to do these kinds of things? He was much better at formalities, at Druid etiquette. Arthur mostly made a mess of it. He was still learning what was insulting to Druids and what wasn’t. To his relief, he only saw raw smiles and soft eyes gazing back at him. Ysěult stepped forwards.

“You forget what you have done for us.” She said, eyes scanning Arthur’s bewildered face. “You have saved us all,” Her smooth lips brushed against his cheek. “We will never forget what you have done. The Balegkor Clan will always be loyal to Ealdor.”

With that her and her son, Rægan, left Arthur’s presence. Keita followed closely behind them, rounding up the Balegkor Clan to depart from Iaonem. Laurys and Allios, the stern-faced, aged but nonetheless pleasant leaders of the Dresdentian Clan were the next to bid their goodbyes. Iseldir said nothing as he cryptically walked past Arthur Pendragon to lead his clan home, though Arthur hadn’t really expected words from the seers. Following that, a dozen other Clan Leaders bid their goodbyes, their Clan swiftly leaving Iaonem. Ryol and his beautiful wife Ïalvy reluctantly bid their goodbyes to the Once and Future. Laísrean and Nolwenn of the Œpontei clan were next.

Arthur wasn’t surprised when the only people left standing in front of him were Topia, Evanna, Elätha and of course _Gwaine._ Instead of bidding goodbyes however, Elätha glanced over to Gwaine before speaking in a low voice.

“Before we leave, there is something we need to discus.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Leon and Lancelot appeared, standing beside the small group. Arthur, a little confused and stunned at the admission, glanced between the friends. He nodded, trailing after them as they walked to the outskirts of the settlement, where they were less likely to be heard. Kilgarrah and Aithusa didn’t join them, which Arthur assumed was because they could probably hear it from where they were, or because it wasn’t necessary to. As Arthur studied his friend’s faces, he grimaced. Evanna was wearing her concealing smile, the one she had used when Merlin and Arthur had first visited Ghedent. Gwaine wasn’t even _trying_ to smile, despite the fact he and Topia were sat remarkably closer together than Arthur had ever seen them.

“What is it?” he asked, unable to bear the morbid expressions any longer. _Honestly._

“Despite the Elders attempts to talk us out of it,” Topia began cautiously, catching the rugged man’s eyes beside her, “we took the weapon up to Iaonam to examine it.”

“We wanted to try and bide you some more time,” Leon added. “We thought perhaps if we found something Gaius would be able to slow the process.”

“Bloody good idea it was too,” Gwaine retorted with a smirk. “You took your _time_.”

Stifling a chuckle at his friend’s taunting words, Arthur leant against one of the stones. The group were silent for a moment, as if unsure how to word their findings. It was obvious they _had_ found something- that much was clear. Topia opened her mouth twice, and then shut it promptly as if she regarded the words in her head as useless. Gwaine shuffled a little awkwardly in his seat, his smirk dwindling into an echo. It was Elätha who spoke up and delivered what the rest wanted to say.

“When we observed the gun, there were traces of dark magic on the gun. At first we all assumed it was just that, _dark magic._ But it wasn’t.” these words really _did_ gain Arthur’s interest. He pushed himself off the rock, standing upright and full of inquisitiveness.

“We think the gun was induced with Naemon magic-”

“-Naiimen?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brows together. The _Naiimen_ were…good weren’t they? He knew barely anything about them but Merlin had always spoken of them in reverence. Topia interjected suddenly.

“Naemon.” She corrected and Arthur hummed absently. The Druids seemed to enjoy giving two different things similar names. He assumed the _Naemon_ were not good. Although he didn’t know _much_ about Naiimen, Naemon – he knew one thing: they lived hundreds of years ago. That didn’t seem to fit with what Topia had just said.

“The Naemon were rumoured to live at the time of the Naiimen. They were dark Druids, they practised the blackest of all magic. It was said that they were all wiped out in a great battle-”

“-and I suppose this…find suggests otherwise?” Arthur frowned as Topia confirmed his suspicions with a weak nod.

“It suggests that there are still people who practice this magic, who have been taught the Naemon ways.” Evanna shuddered at the thought, listening as her husband spoke. “The fact that your _father_ knew about it means perhaps he was planning something far worse, or Morgause was.”

“Morgause.”

“We think she was the one who tampered with the weapon and put the magic there.” Leon supplied, cupping his face.

“I’m guessing there’s more to this considering we wouldn’t be speaking about it otherwise,” Arthur replied, because Morgause was _dead._

“It wouldn’t make sense for the Naemon to pass down all their knowledge to just one Druid,” Evanna concluded, her brown curls framing her anxious face. “Even if Morgause acquired this spell without consent, the fact remains that there are remnants of Naemon spells around.”

“Well, what can we do about it?” Arthur asked, sensing the worry to the woman’s voice.

“Nothing.” Topia exhaled in avid exasperation. “We can only hope that no-one else tries to do it again. Naemon magic is not something you can play around with; it could _kill you_ if you get it wrong. Luckily, it’s not something any Druid can decide to just have a go at.”

“…how is that… _lucky_?” Arthur couldn’t help but feel he was missing something crucial here. Surely if not _everyone_ could do it, it meant that only those with already great _power_ could. The curly-haired man began to demonstrate his exceptional knowledge in the Druid culture.

“It is very unlikely for _anyone_ to meddle with it, unless they know exactly what they’re doing. Morgause didn’t have much knowledge of it, that much is clear. If she had Merlin wouldn’t have survived past the second that bullet hit him.”

The thought of Merlin being subjected to something that fatal truly _angered_ and hurt Arthur. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he clasped his eyes tightly shut for a moment. That wasn’t the case though. Merlin was _fine,_ and he was safe. That hadn’t happened, and it _never would_ happen. He would ensure of it. Removing his hand from his face, Arthur opened his eyes and regained composure. A hand gently grabbed his shoulders.

“We felt the need to make you aware of it,” Elätha admitted. “It’s nothing of great concern, but it is enough to be mindful of.”

“I understand, thank you for bringing this to my attention.” Arthur smiled lightly at them all. “And _thank you_ for helping me, I couldn’t have done any of this without your loyalty and support.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Elätha outstretched his hand warmly.

Shaking it firmly, Arthur’s smile widened. _Friends._ To think a month ago he and Elätha had sparred on top of a mountain, fighting to the _death_ in a fit of rage and pride. A lot had changed since then. The man before him had indeed become a friend.

“You’re more than welcome to join us in Ghedent.” The Clan Leader said, gazing behind him at the people of Ealdor. A sad expression swept over Arthur’s face for a moment, pondering on these words. It hadn’t occurred, but whilst the Clans were returning home, the Ealden people were not. Their home was gone. With a slow nod, unable to articulate his words, Arthur smiled politely. He appreciated the gesture, _really_ he did. But this was something he and Merlin needed to discuss together. Elätha appeared to understand the train of emotions running through Arthur. His eyes softened, giving Arthur’s hand one final squeeze before turning to bid his goodbyes to Lancelot, Leon and Gwaine. Arthur turned to the wonderful Evanna. Gwaine, Leon and Lance, they’d really settled into Albion – the Druids welcomed them as one of their own, much like with Arthur. It was a lovely sight to see, Arthur mused to himself as he kissed Evanna’s delicate hand.

The King and Queen of the Ghedent mountains linked arms, nodding curtly to Topia of Saerion who returned the gesture. They made their way back to Iaonem, no doubt to gather their clan and take them back home to the refuge of the great mountains in the south. Arthur watched them fade into the distance fondly, an ache in his chest. He really was going to miss Elätha. His attention was diverted back to his friends as he heard Topia’s voice ringing out.

“Well, I guess this is my cue to leave. You know where to find me if you ever do want to go out on that date.”

Grinning, Arthur spun around in hope to catch Gwaine’s reaction. He almost missed the hint of embarrassment quickly splashed over with his usual mischievous smirk. But he _hadn’t_ missed it and oh, he was going to ensure Gwaine never forgot it.

“ _Second_ date, actually.” Gwaine retorted.

Raising her eyebrows, Topia felt her lips betray her and form a small smile that wouldn’t go away.

“Right.”

Was that a _nervous_ laugh Arthur heard slipping from Gwaine’s lips? Oh it _was._ Folding his arms across his chest, delighted by the scene, Arthur’s eyes raced between the two of them. Topia then pressed a chaste kiss against Gwaine’s cheek before abruptly turning to bid Arthur goodbye. If Arthur could see Gwaine over her shoulder, calculating what just happened, he pretended he didn’t notice. The dark-haired woman extended her hand towards Arthur. Clasping it, Arthur tilted his head.

“You knew from the start didn’t you? From that day on the beach.” He said vaguely; nobody around them seemed to understand what he meant.

“I admit I was a little _sceptical_ at first when Merlin told me,” she pulled a comical expression, remembering that day. Arthur gaped a little; of _course_ Merlin had known back then but kept it quiet. He made note to bring that up later. “But you’ve proven yourself, and become a man far greater than the legends could have ever predicted.”

“Thank you Topia.” With a final squeeze of her hand he released it.

“Keep up your studies Leon. I assure you you’re very talented, particularly in Druid linguistics.” She offered the man a small smile. Leon looked like he had just received two-dozen awards and a medal, his eyes full of pride and his smile bordering insane. The sight made Arthur chuckle.

Topia cast one final look over to Gwaine before leaving the group of friends and heading back into the Iaonem settlement.

“You’re not _really_ going to just leave it like that are you?” Lancelot asked, his tone bordering playful disappointment as he gazed over at a bizarrely quiet Gwaine. Lance met Arthur’s eyes impishly.

“The Gwaine _I_ know certainly wouldn’t…” Leon said, forging a pensive voice as he held a hand to his stubbly chin. The twinkle in his eyes completely discredited his actions.

“Well it’s no surprise to _me,_ he’s always been a dollophead about things like _this,_ remember the whole _Daphne fiasco_ -” Arthur didn’t get to finish his teasing words. Gwaine marched past his friends and towards the crowd of people. Raising his eyebrows, Arthur watched his friend stride towards the unsuspecting woman. A few seconds later, there was an explosion of noise. Some people shrieked in shock and a few people clapped. Lance, Leon and Arthur exchanged triumphant smiles. _At last,_ things were look promising for Albion.

**♦☼♦**

This time, when Merlin opened his eyes, the sun was far less vibrant. It had slipped behind the Iaonem forest, leaving behind an orange hue in the sky that was preparing itself for its collision with the purple shades of nightfall. His vision became less blurred after two blinks, and relief swept through him when he established he could see. The sensation of sound crept back too, only this time it was not overbearing and horrible. In fact, Iaonem was quiet… _too_ quiet considering almost ten thousands Druids were currently residing there. When Merlin tried to sit up, he winced a little. Immediately soft, caring hands were on him, helping him to get into this position.

When Merlin looked up and saw those sapphire eyes, he felt a hollow laugh crack in his throat clumsily; a raw smile split open his face and crinkled his eyes. He was unbearably thin, the illness draining him. His skin was pallid, his cheekbones sharp and jagged enough that Arthur almost wondered if it would be possibly to cut yourself on them. His eyelids were still a little swollen, giving a heavy-lidded impression to all of his expressions. But the sight of his blinding grin was so endearing that Arthur leant forwards automatically, beaming like a mad man and kissed him, teeth against teeth, noses bumping messily.

It didn’t matter, because he was back! Gaius gazed over fondly from the workbench before leaving the pair in peace. Retreating, Arthur sat beside Merlin’s makeshift bed. Happiness oozed from his face, his skin was glowing. Merlin continued to smile before exhaling, clearly still a little exhausted by everything.

Then he looked Arthur in the eyes and tried to speak. It came out uneven and a little pitchy.

“…Hi.”

It had to be the most adorable thing Arthur had ever seen, and _Christ,_ he was a full-grown man. Then Merlin’s sheepish ‘hi’ resulted in a confounded look on his face, as if trying to fit together the pieces of this new world. Again, it was _stupidly_ cute, and ridiculous. Arthur met his eyes, and that was _it._ In seconds, the pair began laughing, although Merlin had to stop because his muscles still hurt. Fondly, Arthur gazed over to the Druid. After all this, Merlin just said _hi._ It didn’t surprise Arthur though.

“We’re _completely_ mad.” He admitted, running a hand over his eyes and instantly refreshing the fatigue. He could sleep later, Merlin was awake now and he couldn’t _miss this._ “It’s good to see you…more _you.”_

“So, you found the flower.” The dark-haired man said conversationally, raising his eyebrows. Arthur rolled his eyes at the familiar tone underlining that voice.

“Don’t act so surprised _Merl_ in,” _you know I’d search the entire earth just for you_ was the unspoken words behind this indignant response. Clasping his hands together, Arthur studied Merlin fondly. “You used your magic to try and help me you know, while you were on the brink of _death!_ You should have been thinking about yourself and yet you _still_ tried to help, god. Sometimes you really _are_ a dollophead.”

Merlin’s eyes twinkled.

“Better than being a Pratdragon.”

Allowing his lips a small twitch, because Merlin had just recovered so he supposed he would let him win for once, Arthur grinned. He remained silent. It was overwhelming, having Merlin blinking, breathing, _talking._ Merlin was okay! After the intensity of everything pummelled his way, it was almost too much to handle, too much of something good at once. The past few days had been long, excruciating. It was then that Merlin’s eyes narrowed and he turned to Arthur with a curious glance. Too content and relaxed to notice the expression, the blonde man absently traced circles on Merlin’s palm.  Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next, _nothing._

“Where’s Will?”

…

The words knocked the breath from Arthur unevenly until he was attempting not to gasp for air and hold a hand to his bruising chest. That overwhelming feeling of grief, of _sorrow_ for all those that had been lost shrouded over him. It took an incredible amount of restraint to rein it in and try to keep it at bay, for _Merlin._ Merlin gazed over to him calculatedly, innocent and unknowing of the events that had come to pass. There was still vibrancy in those eyes; Arthur wanted nothing more in the world for them to stay that way.

Honestly, Arthur was _still_ unsure how to handle this situation. He knew Merlin was going to be devastated. Swallowing-hard, Arthur realised he’d taken far too long to answer. Slowly, he shifted his gaze towards Merlin. It was enough. He knew. His façade had broken rather spectacularly, allowing all of his emotions to pour out and entwine themselves in the air around. Merlin’s calm, collected face gradually descended into melancholy. His open, shining eyes instantly dimmed. His body stilled. His breathing became erratic and his eyes stung. For a moment he sat there, staring, immobile. His breaths faded away into small wisps of air that emphasised the tremors.

It _hurt_ to see him like this; Arthur could feel his own heart breaking at the sight.

Then Merlin’s body became animated. Shaking his head in despair, Merlin attempted to get up. A dizzy rush of adrenaline soared through his body. Arthur pushed him back down gently.

“n…” Merlin tested out the sound on his tongue, wincing at how broken his voice sounded. Inhaling a ragged breath he tried again. The words came out with difficultly. “No, _no.”_ Will couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ – but he _could._ And he would. It was typical Will, biting off more than he could chew, running into trouble. Will was _dead._ William – _his_ Will, best friend – dead. A sob escaped his mouth; Merlin cupped his face. For a few minutes he sat there like that, Arthur cradling him comfortingly and saying nothing.

Nothing could be said; nothing could possibly make this any better. He kissed the dark curls on Merlin’s head, stroking a hand through the soft hair. Wiping his eyes, Merlin put on his brave face, gazing over to Arthur questioningly. He understood the implications immediately.

“We were rounding people up to go back to Iaonem, one of Uther’s men. Suddenly, there’s this _sound_ and people are yelling my name. I hit the ground. But I’m _fine._ I look over and he’s…” pause, a sad smile. “He saved my life. He pushed me aside, and took the bullet _knowingly._ He was one of the bravest men I’ve ever known.”

Merlin remained silent, staring vacantly out as the story was told. The violent tears had subsided to a worrying calm.

“He never hated you,” he eventually said, eyes vacant and expression tightly controlled. Arthur felt a little unnerved at how mechanical Merlin looked right now. To his relief, and worry, emotion poured out of the dark-haired man’s body abruptly. “He…he was just _stubborn_ and scared and-”

Another sob. Oh _god._

“-Shh, Merlin, it’ll be alright.”

He couldn’t be _gone._

 _Will,_ he just couldn’t. It was _Will._ Will had always been there, since the moment Merlin was crawling on the grass and moving objects with his magic to the astonishment of others. Will had been there when he’d decided he was running away from home in a spur of the moment fit of rage. Will had offered to follow him but convinced seven-year old Merlin that a scolding from parents was nothing to do anything drastic about. Will had listened to him; Will had seen him as _Merlin –_ not just as Emrys. There were times that Will had looked up to him _so much,_ recently more than ever.

He wondered if Will ever knew the truth, that sometimes Merlin looked up to _him._ So down to earth and resolute. Never afraid to voice his opinions and stand up for what he thought was right. Will could be reckless, led by his bold heart and blinding courage. Will had left Albion to _help_ rescue Druids. He had _saved_ Arthur Pendragon’s life – the man he had barely begun to accept.

“He was a great man, he’ll be forever remembered in the hearts of many.” Arthur concurred softly, able to somehow sense what was going through Merlin’s head without being intrusive and using magic to look inside.

Rubbing his eyes, Merlin gazed over to the blonde man. He hadn’t seen Arthur in _days._ Hell, he wouldn’t even be here right now if it weren’t for Will, his best friend. Swallowing-hard, the Druid smiled lightly, attempting to brush away the tears.

“We’ll have a proper remembrance ceremony for him when we go home, I promise.” The blonde man added.

The words captured Merlin’s attention wholly. His upset and grief was overcome by an intense curiosity he could not fathom. Narrowing his eyes, he leant a little closer. Arthur couldn’t be suggesting what he thought he was – _could_ he? Go home. Arthur didn’t seem to realise why what he’d said had such an impact.

“We don’t have a home anymore.” Merlin whispered morosely, the memories of Ealdor clinging to his skin desperately.

“We do. As long as we’re all together, we’re _home.”_

But the words had brought a strange urgency to Merlin. He attempted to stand; Arthur forced him back down again, an amused expression on his face.

“We can’t stay in Iaonem Arthur.” The memories, the _events_ that happened here; Iaonem was an ancient landmark of tragedy, triumph, hope and loss all merged into one cataclysmic mixture. As Clan Leader, it _was_ Merlin’s responsibility to ensure his family had a suitable home.

“We can talk all about this when you’re fully rested and back to your usual self.” Arthur said, a small undertone of imperativeness laced between each of the words added emphasis to his argument. Sensing the protest on Merlin’s lips, Arthur chuckled. “I _mean_ it! Stop worrying about our people; leave that to me. You need to make sure you’ve fully rid yourself of the curse.”

“Hmm, we’ll talk about that too.” Merlin said matter-of-factly, with stubbornness. All of this was completely undermined by the slow blinking of his eyes and the yawn stretching out between vowels.

“Always have to have the last word don’t you _Mer_ lin?” Arthur’s voice drifted into his ears, offering safety, comfort and protection.

“When I’m talking to _you_ , yes.”

“Go to sleep, _idiot.”_

“Only if you stay, _prat.”_

“I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh for-”

Shuffle. Sigh. Exasperation. Affection.

“- _Fine_ , but budge over a little.” Pause. “I’m _never_ going to get any sleep on this uncomfortable _thing.”_

“Goodnight Arthur.”

Home. Home. _Home._


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So excited to put this up. Hope you enjoy it - worked very hard on this chapter, enjoy!! 
> 
> ONE CHAPTER LEFT. OH MY I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!

A week passed by fluidly in Iaonem, with Merlin finally well enough to walk and talk. He spent most of his time conversing with Ealden Druids, who were attempting to enjoy the aftermath of war and consequent peace as opposed to worry about the impending decision Merlin and Arthur had to make about where their new home would be. That appeared to be the general consensus around the clan; nobody brought the topic up. Even Kilgarrah and Aithusa remained cryptically silent on the issue. Merlin was thankful for this, the last thing he wanted to think about was the pressure of finding a new home, the raw memories of battle and destruction, _death,_ and Will…whenever Will came into his mind, he found he could not dismiss it or brush it away. It was the one constant reminder of Breguoin, of a beautiful friendship; he wasn’t ready to let it go.

Arthur had been mysteriously absent from Iaonem the past week, as had Aithusa. Yet again, the Ealden Clan had become experts in holding in their inquisitiveness. Nobody asked where he went. Only Morgana would try to coax it out of him and follow. Merlin had given up; Arthur would tell him what he was up to when the time was right, he was certain. The fact that Arthur of _all_ people was withholding something unsettled Merlin. He couldn’t help but associate it with the events that had passed all those months ago.

But everything had changed now. Things were looking up.

The sun rose swiftly into the new week.

Its radiance fluttered down to grace Iaonem with promised light. However, it was still _far_ too early for anybody to open their eyes and appreciate it. Or so Arthur _thought._ He heard the crunching of leaves as somebody attempted to quietly stalk through the settlement. Blinking one eye open absently, he inhaled a breath of fresh air. There was still a streak of purple in the sky, gesturing it could be no earlier than four am. He was ready to shut his eye once more, and fall back to sleep until he discovered that this early-bird was someone he recognised. In fact, it was somebody who he hardly expected to be awake at this hour.

Opening both eyes with less reluctance, he watched silently from his sleeping position on the blanket beside Merlin as the figure crept through the clearing. She was wearing the emerald cloak Gwen and Merlin had made for her; it draped down hypnotically to the ground, illuminating her eyes and complementing her pale skin. Arthur felt a smile tickle his lips. Even as a _child_ she had been awful at trying to go unseen. He often had been startled that she’d made it across the corridor to his room at night with those fairy-tale books she’d harboured. It was surely proof that his father was a heavy sleeper. Briskly, he dismissed the thought of Uther Pendragon, his smile dwindling into an echo. As he gazed back over to where Morgana had been standing, he found that she was now gone.

He cast a cautious glance over his shoulder to a bare-chested, glorious Merlin. His dark curls were dishevelled and splashed messily over his forehead. His mouth was hung open ungracefully as he gently breathed to the rhythm of his peaceful dreams. Ensured that the Druid was asleep, Arthur pressed a kiss absently to the shoulder closest to him. Then he clambered out of the blankets and fastened the navy blue cloak around his neck.

Hastily he stalked into the Iaonem forest. It was a magical sight. The orange rays of the sun were streaked over the ground allowing an ethereal glow to resonance throughout the wood. Each tree was a dark silhouette, and Arthur gazed down to watch his feet dance enchantingly around the many shadows they made. Through the slits of the trees, a lighter golden hue lined the sky on the horizon.

The whole scene almost reminded Arthur of the entrancing Ĺäneìt forest of the Princess Faerie Lucinda. A few steps later he realised he was not completely wrong. As he walked, he could hear the gentle whispers of woodland faeries. It was odd to think this soothing sound was once so unfamiliar to him, yet now it was so natural and welcoming. He heard a few of the conspicuous creatures hiding in the trees utter his name in their elusive tongue. Arthur smiled politely at the source of the tiny voices, offering them a slight incline of his head before continuing on his path.

He trailed through the forest, alarmed by the stillness of it all. Now everything was _truly_ at peace. Arthur was a little hesitant to bask in the beauty and glory of Albion, irrationally afraid the moment he did so it would all be stripped away like it had been many months ago. This slight resolve dissolved the moment he caught sight of a particular stone. A single ray of sunlight dramatically rained down upon it, giving the ancient stone a mystical aura.

As he walked down the small hill towards the stone, his eyes softened. One hand reached out to touch the stone, to caress its uneven wrinkled face. The other hand clasped the hilt of Excalibur. He could still see the scar in the rock, where this mighty sword had once been plunged into. To think, he had _pulled it out!_ The tips of his lips twitched, his fingers delicately splayed over the warm stone. Part of him was so moved by its very nature that he was compelled to whisper his gratitude in the Druid tongue. The other part of him remembered that _Morgana_ was here somewhere and if she spotted him talking to a stone of all things he’d never hear the end of it. So after one final fleeting look, Arthur progressed forwards past the ancient stone. He didn’t have to walk much further before he came across who he was looking for.

She was standing at the edge of this terrain, halfway between the decayed remnants of a majestic tree that bleed out into the sky and halfway between the forest floor. Merlin had told Arthur of this strange phenomenon, and to see it for his own eyes he had to admit it was far more staggering than Merlin had let on. This whole platform of the forest ended mere feet from Morgana, aside from the fallen trunk of a humungous tree. If one were to look down at the edge of this platform, they would see nothing but a beautiful forest at a drastically lower altitude. Arthur still hadn’t quite gotten over the sheer geographical brilliance of this world; it truly was overwhelming. With the sun’s light sprouting across this landscape, it simply accentuated the splendour of this forest.

Arthur was a little surprised that Morgana hadn’t yet noticed him. He was after all, in her field of vision for she was no longer looking outwards at the distance ahead. Her eyes were a little distant themselves, almost as far away as the ancient mountains that were mere dots from here. It concerned him of course. She had been too detached recently from everything. Since developing her skills, she had drifted quite often away from reality, sitting in solitude and drinking in the future. He had already discussed this with her, to no success. So, he figured the only way to communicate was via their renowned sibling banter. He took another step forwards, a fondness germinating within his eyes.

“Where do you think you’re sneaking off to at this hour?” he asked, smile broadening as he watched the raven-haired woman fidget in surprise. Immediately she dismissed her shock and her wide eyes narrowed. There was that playful resilience on her face as she strode towards him.

“What do _you_ think you’re doing sneaking up on me at this hour?”

Collating the evidence together in delight, Arthur’s smile shifted into a smug grin. So, he _had_ outwitted his sister and her powers of foresight. Ha! Morgana gritted her teeth, allowing him to gloat for a moment at his victory. As she expected, he made a verbal announcement rather proudly, not failing to savour the moment.

“ _You,”_ he took a step towards her, his eyes twinkled with something more than just the sunlight. “Didn’t see me coming.”

She rolled her eyes at his remark before titling her head. A tight smile spread across her lips, clearly forced and far from genuine. But her eyes were sparkling with the same sentiment his were, so Arthur was certain she was simply stumbling back into their usual exchange. Her flippant response confirmed this.

“My magic doesn’t warn me every time you’re going to appear you know,” she pouted playfully for a second, feigning an innocent look. Arthur didn’t buy it; instead he folded his arms across his chest knowingly and pondered on why she had chosen the word ‘warn’. It became clear as she delivered her punch-line.

“It has more important things to do than keep tabs on my _nosy brother_.”

Warmth and contentment bubbled in his chest; he’d missed this. Not that he’d _ever_ confess this to her of all people. Morgana was an important person in his life, his _sister._ He couldn’t help but allow the affection to sweep over his face and cover his skin. Raising his eyebrows, he gestured to the forest vaguely.

“So, where… _are_ you going?” pursing his lips together, he blinked slowly as he waited for her response.

“Can’t I just want to go for a morning walk?” she stalled, clearly avoiding his question.

He scoffed at the proposal, shooting down the excuse incredulously.

“You.” He emphasised the word, gesturing towards her with one hand. “You are _not_ a morning person.”

“And how would _you_ know?” she asked impishly with a grin, twirling around his words with elegance. “You sleep like a _wild bear_ who’s just gone into hibernation-”

Arthur gaped at the insult, though amusement remained prevalent in his expression.

“-I _do_ not!” he huffed indignantly, earning a small bubble of laughter from his sister.

The pair met eyes briefly. Ever since children, they’d teased each other. Such _silly_ things they’d done; Arthur had once told a seven-year-old Morgana that it was opposite day and she’d believed him and told everyone nasty (but really kind) things. Morgana had once turned everything (apart from his bed and drawers) upside down when he was out and feign shock whilst letting him believe a ghost was haunting him. Arthur remembered the times he’d stolen her hairbrush before she’d styled her hair for a date.

She had stormed into his room, eyes wild and truly resembling a monster from a horror film. She had chased him around the entire Pendragon manor (only residing in during the school holidays) with a menacing shoe with a heel _far_ too sharp for his liking. She’d got him back a few months later, waiting for the opportune time of course. When _he_ had brought a girl over for dinner, Morgana decided to tell a fictitious anecdote of how Arthur had once given the whole family severe food poisoning.

Dwelling on the memories, Arthur rested a hand on her shoulder gently. He felt so relaxed, so _happy_ that his lazy eyelids drooped a little. At ease, Morgana fastened the strap on her satchel. It was odd how one small action changed everything radically. She didn’t realise her mistake until Arthur’s grip tightened on her shoulder. By the time that happened she knew that _he’d_ figured it out and it was too late. Cautiously, she glanced up to him with sad eyes. Arthur felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest again, and this time he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to repair the damage. Unable to release her from his intense grasp, Arthur chased her eyes imploringly. No matter how hard he tried, she kept escaping his gaze. The game lingered on for a few more seconds until Arthur became frustrated by it and propelled himself away from her.

This time, she _did_ meet his eyes. But not for long, because she couldn’t bear the anguish on his face, the pure melancholy cast over him. Arthur attempted to organise his cluttered mind. She hadn’t confirmed anything yet, and neither had he. He could be wrong; he might have misinterpreted all of this. A wretched groan left his lips. This was _Morgana._ As much as she liked to think she had the ability to be mysterious, he _knew_ her better than anyone. Swallowing-hard, he sighed heavily. This silence stretching out between them, it _was_ the admission of what he feared. They remained this way for a few more moments. Rather abruptly, Arthur cleared his aching throat and spoke.  

“You’re leaving.”

No response. Eyes darkening, Arthur rushed back towards her. There was a fierce look on his face that didn’t wither the closer he got to her. Morgana held her ground sternly, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears from falling.

“You were just going to _leave_ without saying anything weren’t you?!” he hissed, voice cracking as a wave of upset crashed over him. Studying the ground pensively, Morgana remained quiet. Another confirmation. This truly broke his heart. She was going to go, without saying goodbye to anyone, to _him._ The anger thawed into blind panic and urgency he couldn’t control. He and Morgana, they were closer now than ever. He _couldn’t_ lose her. Reaching out to her once more, he pulled her towards him frantically.

“Morg your place is _here-”_

“-Arthur.” Her voice was just as desperate and pleading as his. “As much as I want this to be my home, in my heart I feel that it never could be-”

Not believing _what_ he was hearing, Arthur shook his head fiercely.

“No.” leaning closer, he caught her striking eyes. This couldn’t be how it all ended. It wasn’t _fair._ “NO. You’re _wrong!_ I…I… _you…_ can’t just leave!” he managed to stammer breathlessly.

“I never belonged here Arthur-” funny, she sounded as if she hardly believed her own words. It was enough to animate the resistance inside of Arthur.

“-No stop being… _stupid_.” He avidly protested, gritting his teeth to try and suppress the hurt inside. She took a step back and he fell into the gap subconsciously. “ _No-_ that’s not true.”

“ _Arthur,_ Camelot Enterprise is in total disarray,” Her words brought his outburst to a standstill.

Confusion and curiosity etched onto his face. What on _earth_ had possessed her to think of the company after all of this? Her words sunk in. No doubt it was now clear the Albion Project was a failure. The absence of Uther and his son would most likely throw the business into shambles. People might even think _he_ was…dead. He wondered if he should feel guilty about not caring if people _did_ think he was dead. She continued, breaking him from his thoughts.

“The world _we_ grew up in still needs to be saved.” Pause. She laughed bitterly, holding a hand to her head for a second. “I can _see it_ in my mind. How can I possibly ignore it?” pressing a hand softly against his arm, she smiled weakly. “That world needs me, just as this one needs you.”  

There it was, that desire to do good and serve justice no matter what. Arthur stared into her eyes languidly as the orange sun enhanced her complexion. They’d been together for years. The longest they’d ever been apart for a few weeks at max; their apartments were even less than a minute walk from the other. They’d _always_ been so close. Despair swept over him. Camelot was… _another world away._ It was too far, too fucking far and he wasn’t sure if he could just watch her fly away back to their old home whilst he stayed here. There was _nothing_ left in the city of Camelot but corruption, injustice and greed. But _here –_ in Albion. Albion was a fresh start, a chance to begin living again, to _truly_ live.

“You don’t _have t_ o go.” He eventually said, ignoring the fact that his implications were quite selfish.  

Her lips twitched, threatening to harbour a smile. It faded as she replied.

“I know.”

“Then…” baffled, he outstretched his arms in a vague gesture and began pacing as if that would enlighten him. It didn’t, to say the least. Turning back to her for a moment, he frowned. He didn’t _understand,_ he honestly couldn’t fathom her reasoning for just leaving.

“ _Why?_ Why all of _this,_ why would you?”

 Why would you break your brother’s heart this way – he silently pleaded.

“Because,” she began boldly. “I _want_ to go.” Arthur hitched a breath; she… _wanted_ to leave? All a sudden the situation became far more delicate and heart breaking. Her eyes scintillated with newfound vibrancy and passion. Arthur’s on the other hand were dismal and dark. “I can rebuild Camelot Enterprise on fair and just foundations, I can bring magic back to that world. I can-”

“-Do something that I never could.” Arthur mused solemnly; a grimace dusted his face at the honesty of his statement. He may have saved Albion, but he’d started fighting back for what was right _far_ too late. His mind reeled back to the conversation he and Morgana had had many months ago, before they’d even set foot in Albion. Gaius had been taken to the labs. He’d done nothing. She’d berated his actions. She told him he could _change things._ He refused to listen. Uther had told him of the _real_ intentions for the Albion Project weeks before they left. He had said nothing. He’d _still_ done nothing about Gaius too. In fact, he hadn’t done _anything_ until it directly concerned him – or more accurately Merlin. That guilt he’d tried to harness consumed him. Morgana dashed forwards shrewdly.  

“Arthur,” her smooth voice gradually broke him from his despair. “You have done _far more_ for the Druids than you ever could have done for them at Camelot.”

“As have you.” He replied grimly, startling her. Reaching for one of her hands, he bit his lip to avoid the misery spilling out. It took him a moment to compose himself. “You are _strong_ and resilient Morgana. You could help us rebuild the People of Ealdor.”

“You don’t need my help for that,” she said rather dismissively with another insightful smile. “You and Merlin have each other. There are others that need saving,” she gazed up into the sky dismally. “ _Out there._ The Druids are still afraid. I can…I can continue your work.”

Arthur knew exactly what she meant by those words.

“The Druid Appeasement Act.” He murmured reflectively.

“I’ll ensure no matter _where_ a Druid goes, that they can be safe.”

Her stubborn words evoked a peculiar pride within him. As he looked at her, his heart swelled, his body thrummed with something deep and unnamed. Morgana was strong-willed, brave-hearted. He was certain she could convince the moon itself to change the tides if she had the chance to converse with it, or even make the sun shrink and expand in the sky. She was persuasive, daring and invigorating. Now he thought about it, she was perfect for Camelot Enterprise. She would not be afraid to go back and change things despite creating controversy. Morgana would _fight_ for the freedom of others; she would not rest until she was satisfied with her establishment. Fondly, he offered her tender smile that spewed not just from his lips but also from his now luminous eyes.

“I don’t doubt that sister.”

She drew him into her arms abruptly.

“Albion will remain safe and untouched, I _promise.”_ She whispered against his ear. Arthur heard the unspoken words: _you will remain safe and untouched._ One of his hands pacifyingly stroked her hair behind her head as she spoke. “It’s…it’s going to be alright now.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the unusual choice of lulling words. He felt her body stiffen in his arms. He said nothing, stirring the words over intriguingly as he held his sister. Morgana was glad he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes; the fear that radiating from them and the sheer upset as her lips trembled violently. By the time he’d released her from his grasp, her expression gave no reason for suspicion or interrogation.

It had all been meticulously brushed aside and replaced with a poignant smile that ricocheted onto his face as they admired the final moments of the sunrise.

**♦☼♦**

Leon had teleported back to Camelot Base with Lancelot and Gwaine once the sun had risen. Almost everybody had left, departed straight back home after the battle. The Base resembled an abandoned, haunted building. It was full of dark memories and scars, and cryptically silent. Those who were left scurried towards the remaining helicopters and left at the mere _sight_ of them. Leon had spotted one neglected helicopter outside the base. He was sat in that helicopter right now, the gentle thrumming of its engine echoing through the clearing in the Iaonem forest. Arthur hadn’t been surprised to hear that Leon was going back with Morgana. It _did_ make sense, and it comforted him to know that she’d have someone out there to look after her. They had bid their goodbyes, some of the Druids offering him gifts and tokens of gratitude. Now he was waiting patiently for Morgana to bid her own. A sad smile dusted his face as he watched the raven-haired woman depart from the helicopter and towards the Druids.

“Do you _really_ have to leave?” Merlin sighed almost childishly, a weary smile on his face as he studied the beautiful woman in front of him. He flapped his arms around himself ridiculously whilst stumbling over his words. Morgana bit her lip to avoid laughing at his rather endearing presence. He sighed dramatically, eyes twinkling with fading mirth. “It’s just…so _soon.”_

Clasping his hand, she returned the sentiment. But her words said otherwise.

“I’m afraid so.”

With that, Merlin dived forwards rapidly and drew her into a tight hug. Morgana laughed in surprise and returned the hug. She and Merlin; they had become good friends despite the odds. Over time, she had come to truly understand him and appreciate the decision he made without her consent. Sometimes she wondered if thing would be different if he hadn’t made that decision. _Sometimes_ she wondered what Arthur would have done if he hadn’t met Merlin. Sometimes she wondered what would have happened to _everything_ without Merlin. He was modest and always humble when it came to himself, but Morgana could see even without her foresight that he was the centre of it all, the pinnacle of magic and Albion. She squeezed him a little tighter, hoping he realised just how _much_ he’d done, and how much it meant.

“You’ll look after him won’t you?” she asked against his ear before they parted.

Pulling back to meet her eyes, Merlin felt his own crinkle as he glanced over his shoulder towards the blonde man. He was standing there with his eyebrows raised at the pair indignantly. _Always_ the prat. A mischievous smile spread across Merlin’s mouth as he turned back to Morgana.

“I’ll do my best,” leaning towards her he lowered his voice, grinning. “but in all honesty you know what he’s like, he can be a bit of a…” cocking his head to the side rather charmingly, Merlin smirked in amusement, hoping Arthur caught sight of it. “… _prat.”_

Chuckling fondly, Morgana gazed over Merlin’s shoulder and met Arthur’s eyes tauntingly.

“That I _do_ know.” She said with a spirited sneer.

Rolling his eyes with deliberate slowness, Arthur marched towards the pair decisively. He seemed unimpressed with their exchange that they weren’t exactly being subtle about. They burst into another mutual laugh about something probably to do with him by the time he had arrived close enough to talk.

“When the pair of you are _quite_ finished making fun of me…” he began with an irritated click of his tongue. The laughter slowly crumbled away, leaving only the three of them and silence. Merlin knew Arthur inside out, and understood what his words _really_ meant. Their eyes met profoundly for a moment. Merlin saw it: desperation; sadness; longing; heartbreak. He wanted nothing more than to be able to fix all of this, yet he knew he couldn’t. Morgana was leaving, and nothing could prevent her from leaving.

Then Merlin inclined his head towards Morgana before brushing past Arthur. He made sure to gently squeeze the man’s shoulder supportively. Arthur’s eyes trailed dotingly after the Druid for a moment. Then they came to rest back upon Morgana, his _sister_ who was readying herself to leave Albion.

“Morgana, I…” pursing his lips together, he paused. No. _Fuck._ That wasn’t what he wanted to say at all, or what he meant to say _._ It was all coming out rather chaotically against his will. Or rather, _nothing_ was coming out at all now. He ruffled a hand through his golden hair, hoping his mind and his tongue would co-ordinate. They didn’t. Sheepishly, he breathed a bitter laugh. Damn, why was this so _hard?_

“Well…erm-”

“-Never thought I’d see the day you’re actually rendered speechless.” Morgana raised her eyebrows in amusement, breaking the tension between them. Arthur let out the breath he’d been holding. He gazed into her glowing eyes. Immediately, he understood. He followed her lead swiftly, because _yes._ They could talk like this. They’d talked like _this_ for all their life. They could tease and mock and scorn whilst _really_ uttering what could not be voiced. He could do this fine. He just couldn’t actually say _it;_ goodbye. Chuckling at her expression, he feigned annoyance. Despite his words, she heard their true meaning, that’s all that really mattered.

“You just think you’re so… _clever_ don’t you.”   _I really don’t want you to leave._

Titling her head, she grinned.

“I don’t think I am, I _know_ I am.” _Me neither._ Pause. Arthur’s eyes flashed with comprehension but before he could interrupt she spoke. “Who got you that 100% in your chemistry exam-?“

 _Again_ with that story really!

“-That _never_ happened!” _Don’t ever change._ He barked back a little bit more animatedly than he’d wanted to, because really they’d agreed that it had _never_ happened. They both could have gotten into a _lot_ of trouble for it in school. She stifled a laugh at his response. Clearing his throat with a cough, he frowned. “And it was more like 85%”-

“- _Definitely_ more than that Arthur, give me some credit!” _Never._ She huffed. He’d been getting less than _half_ of the marks required to pass the exam. Without her help he would have failed and then suffered the wrath of Uther. Arthur smirked at her rather arrogant response.

“It appears you’ve got more Pendragon in you than I first thought,” _You’ll always be my sister._ He mused, gesturing towards her snidely. Then he lowered his voice, eyes impish and teasing. “Better watch out, Merlin might start calling _you_ a prat soon.”

Instead of biting back with a mocking remark, Morgana broke into a genuine laugh. Arthur mimicked her actions. The pair stood there for some time, exchanging smiles with a bitter edge and broken laughter. Merlin watched them pensively. He’d never had a sibling, but Will was close enough to be a brother to him. He recalled when _Will_ had decided to leave Ealdor for good all those months ago, to go to Freya. He winced at the vicious memory. They’d _never_ been apart for that long! It had destroyed him. He could barely imagine how Arthur and Morgana were feeling right now. But at least both of them were safe, and alive. Losing Will, it had _hurt,_ especially as he had never gotten the chance to say goodbye. He blinked rapidly to avoid tears. The laughter and smiles ceased. The beating rhythm of the helicopter became more insistent, beckoning her presence.

“So,” Morgana said, gazing behind her at the aircraft. “This is it.” _Goodbye._

Arthur felt like a big brother seeing her sister off to university or something of that calibre. Her eyes were juvenile, her complexion fresh and almost naïve. She looked fifteen all over again, a young girl with too much desire for exploration and imagination. Forcing himself to tug his lips into an aching smile, because he knew she didn’t deserve to leave with nothing else, he looked down at her fondly.

“…We’ll meet again.” _Goodbye – for now._

She scoffed as if he was being ridiculous. But he wasn’t, honestly. She seemed to be forgetting that she was leaving this world, entering another; they would be _thousands_ of miles apart. Teleporting could work, but it wasn’t going to be flowers and sunshine going… _back there._ Arthur swallowed-hard, dismissing the thought.

“Of course we will.” Her eyes became more severe. “When the time is right.”

She made haste towards the helicopter. Arthur tugged her back viciously, _desperately_ ; smile fading and eyes full of a protective streak she’d become accustomed to.

“Be careful.” He practically growled.

“I’m going to _Camelot Enterprise_ Arthur, not to war.” She joked. Judging by the way they both flinched inwardly at the words, perhaps it still not appropriate to joke about war. They’d just witnessed a _colossal one,_ one that had torn apart this world. Once recovered from the sharp images stabbing his mind at the word war, he sighed.

“It’s not going to be easy.”

Morgana smiled regretfully at him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I know.”

Pressing his eyes shut, Arthur held onto her. He tried to engrave this memory into his mind forever. Her warm skin against his, their hearts beating together, his sister _so close_ and safe. By the time he’d started to try, the warmth was gone. The distance returned. But it would be nothing compared to the distance that was coming. He grappled for words clumsily, the water in his eyes exposing itself.

“Just…watch…your…” slapping a hand across his face to briskly wipe any water that trickled down, betraying him, he studied the ground. “…Watch your back.”

“Still treating me like a child?” she asked coyly, though there was no element of joy in her voice or expression.

“Well,” he choked, managing to hold the upset at bay for a few more moments. The look of affection he cast her was one Morgana would cherish. “You _are_ my little sister.”

With that, Morgana tore her vision away from Arthur. She walked towards the helicopter, into the blazing sunlight ahead; into the unknown. Arthur watched solemnly, so engrossed in the moment he barely noticed Merlin had returned to his side. Resolutely, she stepped inside the helicopter. Once final glance thrown over her shoulder was for Arthur alone. He caught it urgently, clinging onto it for as long as he possibly could. The glance could not be held forever. It escapes his clutches. Suddenly, the door was slamming and the helicopter was lifting into the air. Morgana was inclined to press her hand against the glass for a moment and then decided against the action. Arthur’s eyes trailed after the helicopter as it slowly rose from the forest clearing into the air. His eyes were watery, his breath ragged.

Then Aithusa landed elegantly beside him on the forest floor. At first he did not spot that mischievous smile skewered across her reptilian mouth. When he did, he returned the look. Without hesitation, Arthur leapt onto her back and ascended into the air. Holding a hand to his mouth in mirth, Merlin grinned at the sight. Arthur and Aithusa flew into the air after the helicopter. To say the White Dragon startled Leon would be an understatement. The helicopter gave a light jolt, enough to stir Morgana from her solemn thoughts. She lifted her head and broke into a peal of vivid laughter. Aithusa and Arthur were floating along beside them. Then they twirled impressively around them to the other side, and then they were diving in and out of the clouds.

They danced this way, machine and dragon for some time, Arthur smiling at his sister through the glass. They danced until the helicopter reached the edge of Saerion; the edge of Albion. There was a final silent goodbye, a final wave. Then Aithusa and Arthur were suspended in motion as the aircraft departed over the reefs and across the ocean. They stayed that way until the helicopter was nothing more than a spec on the horizon. Neither said a word, eyes fixated ahead. Then, finally, they flew back to Iaonem.

**♦☼♦**

“I’m… _sorry_ that Morgana has gone.” Merlin muttered over to Arthur when he sat down. The pair were on top of a large rock, legs dangling over the edge. It gave them a brilliant view of Iaonem; you could see all the Ealden people from here. Glancing over to the Druid with a resigned smile, Arthur fiddled with the moss covering a rock beside him.

“She wanted to go,” he admitted, ducking his head when Merlin looked over. “she will make amends for our father’s wrongdoings on earth.” Tossing a bit of moss over the edge they sat, he offered Merlin a pensive stare. Instantly, the warmth left his eyes. “She will do something I never could.”

Instinctively, Merlin leant closer.

“You belong _here,_ it’s your destiny.”

“I know.” His serious tone descended into a playful one. “You’ve only told me about a thousand times-”

Merlin laughed.

“-And I’ll tell you a thousand more if that’s what it will take for it to sink into that _thick skull_ of yours-”

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur gazed over at Merlin in amusement.

“- _Now_ who sounds like a dollophead-”

“-You can’t just _use_ my insults Arthur-”

“-Shut-up Merlin.” He said with a broad smile on his face. Chuckling silently, Merlin’s eyes crinkled in glee.

Arthur gently shoved him with his shoulder before reaching for one of his hands affectionately. For a moment, the content resonating from Arthur’s eyes was enough to console Merlin. The pair gazed out, admiring their people who courageously continued to renew their way of life before everything had drastically been altered. They had been through so much, endured so much suffering. They were _so strong;_ the Ealdor clan was stronger than it ever had been, closer and far more familial. It couldn’t stay this way, however. They had to leave Iaonem soon, they had to adapt to a _real_ home. Merlin wasn’t sure if there even _was_ a real home for them. His eyes dimmed, face contorted grimly.

“I’ve been thinking,” he admitted solemnly, finally revealing what had been on his chest all _week_ to Arthur. Swallowing, he cleared his dry throat in preparation for his next words. “…Dresdentian has offered us refuge, as has Saerion and Ghedent, but…” Merlin sighed, bowing his head dismally. “It…It doesn’t feel…” he paused, struggling to articulate himself. There were so many spectacular places in Albion, so many visions of beauty; though none were ever quite like _their_ home had been. “…It’s _not_ Ealdor.” He concluded honestly, removing his hand from Arthur’s to massage his throbbing head.

Considering the situation they were discussing, Arthur had remained strangely quiet and distant. Not once had he tried to console or comfort, but then why _would_ he? Ealdor was gone; Merlin understood that. No words would bring it back, no words would make it right; and Merlin _also_ understood the immeasurable guilt and shame Arthur felt, still believing all of this destruction was caused by his own actions. But none of this explained the peculiar glint in the blonde’s eyes, his disappearance for _most_ of the week.

Abruptly, Arthur got onto his feet. There was a bounce to his step, enhancing the twinkle behind his sapphire orbs. Merlin gazed up at him in confusion, expecting some kind of answer to this odd behaviour. Exhaling dramatically, Arthur ran a hand through his blonde hair before turning decisively to Merlin.

“Come with me.”

Now Merlin really _was_ confused. Narrowing his eyes, he remained seated.

“Wh-…now?” gazing around in disbelief, Merlin laughed incredulously. “We’re kind of in the middle of a conversation, an _important_ one-” his tone bordered patronising, evidently annoyed at Arthur’s odd dismissal.

“-Well,” the blonde _prat_ said vaguely, making a rather unclear hand gesture. He was clearly focused on something else. “Just hold whatever thought you’re holding for another…” distractedly he waved over towards Aithusa who ascended into the air towards them. “Hour or so-”

“- _Arthur!”_ Merlin protested as he leapt to his feet. He was to say the least a little stunned by Arthur’s blasé attitude and sudden change of demeanour. Within seconds, Aithusa was hovering beside the rocky terrain. Arthur had already climbed onto her back and was slowly drifting away.

“Just. Call Kilgarrah and follow Aithusa and I- okay?” _No,_ it was _not_ okay! But hell Merlin was so bewildered and _curious_ about Arthur’s spontaneous, radical actions that he just _had_ to follow now. Quickly, he spoke in his mind to the Golden Dragon of old. Kilgarrah reached the stone; leaving the pair enough time to decipher what direction Aithusa and Arthur had sped off in.

Catching up to Aithusa and her golden rider, Merlin steered Kilgarrah closer to them. Gently the two Dragon’s nudged each other. Arthur glanced over to Merlin, expression neutral and concealing. It frustrated Merlin even further, he found he had to bite his tongue in fear he would spew a list of unappealing adjectives and start a _real_ fight with Arthur and _gods_ they hadn’t had one of _those_ for months. Averting his away, Merlin told himself he was just imagining the small upwards incline of the White Dragon’s lips, because Dragon’s didn’t _smirk_ or smile. As he studied the woodland beneath them, Merlin allowed the adrenaline of flying to fill him. It had been hard this week, letting everything go – it was impossible not to think.

But now, floating gracefully through the air, the wind smacking against his face in a refreshing manner, it was hard _to_ think. Gazing back over to Arthur, Merlin felt his lips twitch. Arthur knew how to make everything better somehow, to let him forget, just for a few minutes. Flying, it was just what he needed right now, an escape. A small laugh escaped his lips as Aithusa playfully swerved towards Kilgarrah and set them off-balance. Kilgarrah huffed indignantly, unimpressed by the childish behaviour. Arthur grinned and for good measure made Aithusa do it again; they narrowly missed the jet of fire that left Kilgarrah’s mouth. The fire crackled in the air, fizzling out vividly in bursts of crimson and amber against the cerulean sky.

“Whoa, play nice Kilg,” Arthur called teasingly from Aithusa, his voice full of smugness and everything Merlin had _once_ hated. Merlin had to stifle his amusement in fear of Kilgarrah shoving him off. Dragonlord or not, there was only so far a legendary creature could be pushed.

Albion really was a staggering sight from up here. Arthur was reminded of his first flight over the land. Back when Camelot Enterprise had first arrived here. He had been in a machine, hovering over the landscape, uncertain of what was to come. Flying on a Dragon enriched the whole experience. Arthur wasn’t _watching_ Albion anymore, or taking it in. Arthur was part of Albion; he was breathing it, living it, tasting it in his lungs, and feeling it against his face. The magnificent forests beneath them stretched out across the horizon. There were occasional landmarks where Albion revealed its diverse range of habitats.

To their right, Arthur spotted the desert plains, the _Perilous Lands._ From up their altitude, Arthur could barely make out the tower in the centre of the desert that had been the focus of his quest. The memory of that adventure flushed through his system; Manticore, crumbling towers, the Trident. Back when it had all barely started to _begin._ He caught the knowing smile on Merlin’s lips before the Druid was able to hide it. Arthur returned the gesture, thinking back on the memories.

The state of languid relaxation and joy subsided as a black, charred landscape came into sight on the near horizon. Merlin gripped Kilgarrah’s scales tighter, eyes stinging and heart racing. Arthur gestured for Aithusa to pick up speed, not wanting to dwell over the tormenting devastation below. They flew silently over the ruins of Ealdor, or what was left of it. The great Crystal Cave was no longer identifiable. It was ashes. The forest around was trampled, blackened with soot and dirt. Scars of weaponry slashed the earth open, the wounds still bled violently out across the plains. It was a distressing sight. Merlin closed his eyes, unable to deal with the sight.

He didn’t want to see this. Why was Arthur taking them here?

Panic. Upset. _Raw_ emotions ricocheted around his body. People had died here. _Innocent_ people caught unaware by a malicious man and his army. His _father_ had died here. Balinor. Merlin wasn’t sure how much longer they’d been flying until he felt Kilgarrah touch the ground. He was still reluctant to open his eyes, skewing them shut in fear he would open them and everything would be _gone._ The sensation of skin on skin contact rushed over his body. A warm hand pressed against his shoulder, another brushing over his closed eyelids. Merlin trembled of all things, a shaky breath leaving his lips. _Please,_ he thought dismally.

The hand on his face trailed down soothingly over the eyelids and downwards to rest against his cheek. Merlin felt Arthur’s forehead leant against his own for a moment tenderly. Then it all faded, replaced by that familiar voice.

“Open your eyes.”

Clamping his eyelids shut tighter, Merlin shook his head bitterly, not caring how ridiculous he looked. He was more aware of the wetness staining his own cheeks now. Biting his lip and clenching his fists, he put all his efforts into keeping his eyes shut because he couldn’t see this now, not after everything. He wasn’t _ready._ Hurt and betrayal pounded him hard in the chest. Why would Arthur do this to him? How _could_ he- knowing what it would feel like- ask this of him?

“You have to,” At least Arthur had the decency to sound concerned.

“ _No, I can’t-”_ Merlin spat viciously, voice clogged up with distress. Two hands pressed firmly against his shoulders from behind, rubbing soothing patterns into his skin.

“Yes you can, you _have_ to Merlin.” There was so much assurance and certainty in that voice.

Merlin could feel his resolve breaking slowly to his panic. Arthur continued to gently caress his skin, voice low and reassuring.

“Open them.”

Merlin did.

No words could describe what he saw. He stared blankly; attempting to absorb what was before him. His body became stiff, eyes wide and jaw gaping. Before he could process what was going on, he was toppling clumsily back into Arthur’s arms for support, unable to maintain his balance. Arthur caught him, pushing him back to his feet silently. Inhaling a deep breath, Merlin cautiously treaded forwards, afraid his feet would deceive him once more. His eye began to sting with water that prickled and agitated his vision. Blinking rapidly, he continued to stare.

It was too much to take in, _too much._ The Crystal Cave, the wondrous forests - all that had once been before. Their _home,_ their – Merlin was incapable of holding it in anymore. His resolve broke dangerously, shards of the eruption soaring outwards. His magic bubbled up inside of him, swirling around him. Arthur stumbled forwards, reaching out for the Druid in anxiety. The magic surrounding Merlin suggested that was not a good idea. Instead, he remained in the background nervously. The haze around Merlin evapourated, and the Druid remained silent and motionless. His eyes never left the sight in front of him, attempting to intake as much detail as possible.

Suddenly a radiant smile spread over his lips, tears spewing from his eyes. Caught between joy, grief and complete surprise, Merlin cupped is mouth, shoulder hunched over. Arthur took a step forwards hesitantly, unsure how to react to this.

“I-it’s…” he stuttered, unable to form his own words cohesively. “W-well I-I thought t-tha-”

Arthur was propelled backwards by Merlin’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a chaotic, forceful embrace. Spinning them around, Merlin gazed out at the magnificent landscape before them. It was _beautiful._ The forest was lush, luminous and vibrant. The area was calming and breath-taking…and then there was that one particular landmark that Merlin couldn’t find words for. Releasing himself from Arthur’s arms, he wiped his eyes.

“So this is where you came,” he whispered, not able to speak any louder in fear of another outburst. “This is where you found the flower.”

“Albion taught me the greatest lesson of all my life,” Arthur said. “She led me to my destiny, she made me suffer for my wrongdoings but she let me put it right. Most of all, she gave me the greatest gift; a chance to start over.” Pause. Merlin felt his composure breaking again. “Not just for me, but for you…for _all_ of us, and for magic.”

Gesturing towards the sight before them, Arthur continued. “This is testament to our people’s courage and bravery, _proof_ that when Uther Pendragon destroyed the Crystal Cave magic never died, that Albion herself never gave up the fight. Magic will live on forever in Albion.”

Merlin gazed out at the sparkling, rocky cavern in front of them, admiring the beauty of the Crystals in the blazing sunlight. The cave was smaller than Ealdor’s had been, yet it carried a similar presence, an undeniable enigma. Merlin could feel it pulling his magic closer. There was something truly _special_ about this Cave; it had a certain quality that the ancient Cave of Ealdor did not possess. Merlin truly believed in his heart that _this,_ this was the birthplace of _all_ magic, of _all_ of Albion. It consumed him, filled him with affirmation and blinding faith until he was overwhelmed and fell to his knees. Arthur hoisted him up onto his feet, concern etched onto his face. He had clearly misread Merlin’s expressions.

“It’s called Eorendel. The forests are shallow and unparalleled to Ealdor, and I know that _nothing_ could _ever_ replace your home. But I-”

Merlin beamed at Arthur, happiness spurting from his complexion, his skin glowing. He silenced Arthur’s rambling with a jab of his finger. Once again, Arthur had surpassed everything. He had not only found them refuge and peace, he had found a Crystal Cave – _the_ Crystal Cave. Yet all he felt was doubt and worry he had somehow done something _wrong._ Merlin felt tears of glee seeping from his eyes. In all his life, he had never quite felt this content, this _overcome_ with happiness. Aithusa let out a strident roar, Kilgarrah gazing upon the scene fondly.

“Arthur.” Pause. Eorendel. Now that really _did_ sound like a place Merlin and his people could finally call home. Nothing Merlin could say could possibly let Arthur know the gravity of what he had done, what he had achieved. A bright bubble of mirth erupted in Merlin’s throat. He said only one thing; one thing he hoped would make Arthur understand. Judging by the touched, exultant expression on the blonde’s face, he did.

“Ic æalá Ŏu, _Ic æalá Ŏu_!” 


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a really horrible week, and all I can say is I'm very luck to be here still and blessed! But I am so happy right now, and what better time for me to put up the final chapter?! 
> 
> Wow. I feel SO NERVOUS posting this! It's been such a journey and I cannot believe that this story is over. I can't thank everyone enough for all your support for the story! 
> 
> I came up with this idea back in 09, and never thought that it would even amount to one chapter yet alone the biggest piece of fiction I've EVER written! I mean 280,000+ words?! I never dreamt I could do anything that big and hopefully I've done it well enough to read like a 'real' story. 
> 
> I am so, so proud of this achievement and overjoyed to share it with you guys.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!  
> It's been a wonderful journey and I've enjoyed putting almost every part of Merlin & Arthur (poor things) to the test!  
> Big love x x x x x

 

It was no secret that Arthur Pendragon knew a great deal about messages, about the gravity of the words one could speak. He supposed he could liken himself to a mere pawn on the great board of Albion, serving orders and performing a duty. He was no Knight - that was forever embedded in his heart. For the things he had _seen_ and allowed to happen, the things he had _caused…_ There was no white horse riding upon this horizon. It was all a dark silhouette; a shadow that never could quite escape the clutches of its master. A frown touched his lips for a moment. A pawn it was, and had to be.

He _certainly_ found it distasteful if he would be named the King.

Once and Future or not, there was a time when he had allowed himself to be coaxed, like a mindless puppet. There was a time when he could be moved by only silver and gold, a time where he refused to look beyond the expectations of _that man_ and ignore the expectations of himself. There was a time when the ‘King’ of a perfidious army beckoned him to make the first move across the board, into the unknown forest with a message disguised as an agenda. And he _did_ so - without hesitation.

He had spoken words that he had wished were not his own.

But nonetheless they were a message – a message of terror and betrayal. This message had cast a shadow over him for months; it had stalked him in the blanched day. It had tormented him in the ebony night. It drove him to the brink of his own sanity; it drove him to the brink of _everything._ It kept pushing…and _pushing_ until alas- he found himself no longer pushing forwards or retreating backwards but suspended. He could feel his toes curling around the edges of the mountain, tickling the stone; his balance wavering and his eyes locked on the abyss below.

He stared deep into the eyes that haunted the darkness, and those eyes had stared back. The eyes had studied him with such scrutiny, such _ravenous_ hunger for his body, for his flesh. This dark power had knocked him off the chessboard, into a totally new arena where the concept of rules did not exist, and the game was far more than a game. To _lose_ this game, it was far worse than a checkmate, an annihilation of bishops, castles and thrones. To lose this game would result in something so cataclysmic that there would never be a game again; there would never be _anything_ again.

Those eyes were still full of pride and triumph, even when he was falling. Arthur had jumped, of course he had. But something held him, clasped its weight around him and dragged him back to reason. It had been something as simple as a name. But this name was a _message_ \- that his work was not done, that he was _not_ a failed man. Arthur understood the sensation of Eorendel more than he could ever strive to explain, even to Merlin. The land held him, embraced him just as it had done before. It was only now, walking with the people behind him that he felt it resonate inside of him.

 _This was it._ This was it.

All this time; his part as a messenger – the pawn – had been so misguided, so distracted and offset by a chain of tragic events. Now, however, it was as clear as the sun in the sky.

It was a blessing to them all, to those who had suffered. To those who had watched the forests burn into oblivion, the crystals shatter into dust; the home they loved charred and corrupted by the hands of Camelot Enterprise. That pain, that raw suffering was etched into every single Druids face; every day. It was the kind of scar that could not be concealed, no matter how greatly they had triumphed. But Eorendel really _was_ a sign, a message.

The people of Ealdor could start anew here.

They could rebuild their lives; make their foundations stronger and bolder. This was where a whole new legacy began. He could feel it – in his bones, a foreign ache that could not be named but _oh_ could it be felt! Magic felt it too, it bubbled up inside, bursting at the seams. The people embraced what was lost – and what had been salvaged. The sense of urgency amongst the crowd was overwhelming; their hearts beating to the rhythm of the Dragons’ mighty wings, their breath rapid and stirring like the coils of wind that caressed their faces. Eagerly, the children pushed past Arthur and Merlin who were leading the group, rushing forwards with reanimated eyes; reanimated futures.

Then as they set foot upon the land, an almighty sensation swept across them all. Not a single person or being was spared from it. Merlin stopped in his tracks beside Arthur, eyes wide and vacant. Arthur gazed around, noticing the Druids behind all behaving in the same manner. Suddenly, he found himself doing the same thing. All eyes on the land ahead that was _theirs,_ their new home. The electric shiver in the air ignited the spark. That was all it took.

Some fell to their knees; some outstretched their trembling hands; some still stood motionless. Arthur could _feel,_ oh right now he felt how he thought he would never feel again. That wretched day, when the whole of Albion had fallen to its knees in sorrow and wept, and _wept;_ the day magic wept. Bringing a hand to his mouth, Arthur inhaled a ragged breath, the overpowering burst of emotion and magic sweeping through it. It was sickeningly strong, burning through his blood and searing his skin. The stinging faded slowly into a humming tranquillity.

This was not the weeping of sorrow. This was magical weeping in the purest form of happiness in the world. The kind of joy that could not be found without the inevitable misery and anguish of thousands of souls; the kind of joy that could not be recreated artificially. Arthur’s entire body tingled as it absorbed the resonance of those radiating around him, expressing their passion and love in this touching way. As Arthur opened his eyes, one hand grasping Merlin’s shoulder for support, he heard his own voice ringing alongside the people’s in a sound that for the first time could be associated with happiness; he felt his own body wrenching and magic coiling explosively.

As quickly as it began, it stopped. And in the afterglow of this magnificent moment, Arthur languidly gazed over to meet Merlin’s sparkling golden eyes. Now, he knew.

 _This_ was the message he had been sent to deliver. 

**♦☼♦**

Most people assumed that the world of dreams was a peaceful haven. Even more assumed that it was safe. A blissful escape from troubles and woes; a place where nobody else could go. Dreams embodied infinite imagination, escapism. And as for nightmares…nightmares weren’t all that different. They were a creation of the mind, nothing more and nothing less. Nightmares were a realisation of your fears, or your darkest thoughts and even unspoken desires. Dreams and nightmares were purely fictional, therefore they were _safe._

Because the _assurance_ of being able to cast them away when you woke was heavily taken for granted. The assurance of dismissing the images in your subconscious was a _blessing,_ not a dull, boring normality of humanity as many saw it. If there was one thing that she had come to learn, it was that this safety was a fragile illusion; it could break any second.

Once the illusion was broken, and the dreams and nightmares were no longer simply dreams and nightmares – that’s when the gravity of the event became all too clear. It could shatter instantaneously, distorting the boundaries of reality and unreality. It could skew time, melt hours away like a flame on a wax candle. Burning. _Always_ burning. It could alter memories of the past and deform those of the present. As for the future; it unfolded in a mixture of ways. Sometimes it would lazily roll through her bones, pulsating languidly, each image fading softly in and out of a hazy focus. Other times, it would crash down without warning, wrecking havoc across her mind and ruthlessly hammering overwhelming voices, images, sense, _everything._ Overload.

Oh god. Overload. Burning. _Always burning-_

-Until she dragged her heavy consciousness up to the surface and jolted awake. Panting. Gasping. Sometimes screaming. More recently it had been screaming. Most of the images she’d seen dissolved from her memory quicker than they’d appeared. But some were impossible to ignore, and would linger even through the world of the living. There had been times where events had unfolded like a mirage in the distance, across the hall – mere ghostly flickers of a future, a past, or perhaps a present. It was never truly certain.

But it was _always_ here. She felt the weight beneath her eyes, sinking into her skin. She could feel it hovering around her. It was both enlightening and exhausting; exciting and terrifying. Her senses, her very way of _looking,_ seeing had changed. There were times she confused reality with unreality, times she failed to switch off the buzzing magic inside her. It grew stronger every day. It grew more intense, more focal and yet distant. Of all she had learnt the past few months, it was that this power was all consuming.

It could _change_ the very being that you are.

It could change your destiny. 

**♦☼♦**

Two months passed blissfully and leisurely. The Ealdor-Eorendel Clan were happily settled in Eorendel, relishing in its magnificence. Basic aspects of Druid life had begun to seep back into cycle. Songs that had almost been forgotten, were being sung again, wonderful stories of their ancestors were being animatedly recited. The days were full of learning, enjoyment and friendship; _love_. Eorendel was energetic, buzzing with vibrancy and thrumming with magic. The Crystal Cave remained mostly unexplored – only Merlin and Arthur were permitted inside, though only Merlin had the privilege to gaze into the Crystals. Despite Kilgarrah urging the warlock to do so, Merlin refused. He wanted to savour every second of this infinite happiness, the happiness and peace that they had prayed for all those long, dark months ago.  

It almost felt like an age away, the Battle of Breguoin, the destruction of Ealdor, the great betrayal. Although sometimes the memories seared Merlin’s skin, sending tremors through his body, there were times when the darkness was nothing but a hazy, cloud drifting momentarily over him, only to dissipate soon after. His thoughts were abruptly broken by the sound of footsteps. Smoothing a hand neatly over his blue shirt (made especially for the occasion), Merlin frantically turned to the source of the noise. He gaped at the sight, frozen in frame.

Gwenevere was a vision of pure beauty. Her dark curls had been organised with sophistication (and a dash of magic). Her cinnamon skin was a contrast against the silky white gown that draped past her feet. The dress was laced at the top intricately, weaving down the arms with supreme elegance. It fanned out at the bottom, creating a rippling effect. Her overall appearance was modest, graceful and staggering.

Merlin beamed with pride, unable to conceal his happiness as she crept out from her room towards him cautiously of _all_ things. His eyes creased with merriment, crinkling on the sides, revealing a set of slanted teeth in a joyous grin. Approaching her, he let out a shallow laugh. Oh he never believed he’d see this day! It filled him with a pure, refined joy. Gwen lowered her head in embarrassment, an unmasked blush tainting her cheeks. Clasping her by the shoulders, Merlin gazed deep into her curious, enquiring eyes. She seemed nervous, waiting expectantly for him to say something, _anything._ This triggered another hollow, airy laugh.

“You look…” taking his hands off her shoulders, he made a vague gesture. Gwen’s lips upturned drastically illuminating her face. Sighing, a gleam in his eyes, Merlin settled upon a phrase that barely surmised her beauty. “Like an angel.”

Gwen’s expression softened as Merlin spontaneously drew her into his arms. His _best friend_ – the woman who had not been a Druid by birth, but undoubtedly by heart.

“Thank you.” He whispered against her ear. Gwen nodded in understanding, pulling back to meet his face.

“My father died when I was just a girl, my brother Elyan, he…he raised me.” She admitted.

Merlin listened attentively, recalling that name she often spoke of with such reverence and unspeakable sadness. He wondered what had happened. She never spoke about it, and he would never pry in fear of upsetting her. Gwen paused, pondering on the memories of her brother. Silently, a series of emotions glimmered through her eyes. Biting her lip, she glanced up at her best friend. Her wonderful friend who had saved the _whole_ of Albion with his staggering courage and bravery.

 _Emrys!_ He was Emrys- the monumental figure of legend. The Druid who inspired hundreds to pilgrimage across the land of Albion, all the way from the Western coast to the Eastern haven of Eorendel to express their gratitude and ask for his blessing. He was the subject of songs and ancient texts; he was the _heart_ of this entire world, the human configuration of Albion and her magic. Some referred to him as their divine almighty Warlock, others the man who tamed the Dragon. A small smile slipped over her face.

Many druids were slightly daunted when they came to meet this iconic figure. But Gwen _knew_ the man behind Emrys, the man many forget was there. He was _just_ Merlin to her, clumsy, adorable and totally enchanting Merlin. She was _just Gwen_ to him. Being able to have such a relationship, such a bond in her life – she felt _truly_ gifted.

“Thank _you_ Merlin.”

Abruptly, Merlin outstretched his arm to her, a broad smile dusting his glowing face. He appeared a little confused by her words, yet didn’t pry. After _everything_ they’d been through, she really didn’t need to thank him. Gwen had led the young and vulnerable to safety in the great battle, she had saved _thousands_ of lives by risking her own for them. He wondered if she knew that the Druids had named her sóþlufu, the kind-hearted guardian of Albion. Of course, she’d _never_ accept that title, bashfully ducking her head or declaring she merely ‘played her necessary role’ in the grand scheme of things. That’s what heightened his admiration for this woman. All she’d done for the people of Albion, and she still had _no idea_ why people would look at her with such benevolence.

“You ready?” he asked softly.

Pushing back the tears in her eyes and throat, Gwen swallowed-hard. Anxiously, she nodded and wrapped her arm around his. With that, the pair of them exited the small wooden house. They walked gracefully down the enchanted pathway ahead. It was dressed in wondrous arrays of flowers especially picked from the fields of Monus. The tree branches had been bewitched, draping over their heads in a complex helix, resembling a mythological, mystical arch. Trails of glittering faerie dust swept around them, mixing strikingly with the amber glow of the setting sun. Princess Lucinda and the faeries made sure to sprinkle Gwen with an extra bit of dust. It settled on her dress, adding an ethereal shimmer and heavenly hue to her complexion.

All her life, she had never _imagined_ that this day would come. But here it was, there _he_ was, waiting for her on the other side. Merlin studied the look on Lancelot’s face. He seemed content, bursting with happiness to the point where it almost looked like inexplicable sorrow. Of course, he was a little nervous, fidgeting impatiently as his future wife strode towards him with poise and elegance. Merlin met the man’s eyes with a knowing smile, before turning his attention back to the astonishing lady by his side.

Standing behind the handsome tanned man was none other than Arthur Pendragon. Arthur inhaled a breath when he caught sight of Gwenevere. Gwaine deliberately nudged Lancelot, resulting in muffled laughter between the trio. She really _was_ stunning, and the look on Lancelot’s face revealed just how smitten he was. Arthur smiled gently, two people _so deeply_ in love, celebrating it and binding themselves together for the rest of their lives. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever had the privilege to witness. A familiar warmth resonated in his chest as he flickered his gaze over to Merlin. The combination of sunlight and faerie dust accentuated his cheekbones, his wide blue eyes sparkling and plump lips oh-so taunting. Merlin coyly averted his gaze, feeling a bit flustered under the intent stare. This was Gwen and Lance’s special day, after all.

The young Calhoun was standing at the front, a look of awe on his face. The child was truly enamoured by the sight of Gwen and by her kindness. It wasn’t hard to tell that they had found a special bond. Gwen had accepted the orphaned child as her own, protecting and shielding him from the darkness that had plagued the Druids in the shadows. Calhoun tugged excitedly at Lancelot’s delicate silk robes, gesturing towards Gwen. It evoked a wide, tearful smile from the tanned man. Merlin chuckled; Gwen smothered the child with a look full of compassion.

Finally, they came to the end of the magical walkway. Merlin watched Gwen’s eyes latch onto her love’s with unmasked adoration and delight. Lancelot returned the sentiment, reaching out for her delicate hands. Reluctantly, Merlin released Gwen from his grasp, a tremble in his lips. She cast him one final look before offering her very being to the man she would call her husband. Merlin clung onto her gaze until the moment it slipped helplessly from his grasp.

In all honesty, he hadn’t expected to be quite this affected by the chain of events occurring. But Gwen was…she was like his little sister. She was a constancy in his life, a source of inspiration and wonder. To be giving her away – it was tougher than he thought. She would _always_ be here, of course she would be. No doubt, however, things would be slightly different. Without William here, Merlin _truly_ felt as if he were losing two of his closest friends forever. A pang of dark isolation swept through his soul, into his aching bones and despairing heart. He was happy for her; it would be selfish _not_ to be.

Nonetheless, the moment she turned away hit him with such intensity, he had to force himself to look up and appreciate the cerise sky to stop himself from sobbing. The physical loss of one friend was enough, he wasn’t sure he could deal with the emotional loss of _both._

He barely noticed the warm hand on his shoulder until it was squeezing his skin tightly with assurance. Merlin didn’t have to _look t_ o confirm that it was Arthur; he was accustomed to his presence. The sympathy etched onto his face melted his fears away, the golden man glowing in the amber sunlight like a guardian. Arthur’s eyes said it all. Lancelot was a gentlemen, he had a noble, honest heart. If there was _any_ man ever worthy of Gwen’s love, it was Lancelot. Smiling with a bittersweet acceptance, Merlin fell softly into Arthur’s embrace as Hunith stepped forwards to address the focal couple.

“Lancelot, Druite ae duione,” she said with a smile. “Are you willing to give this woman your heart, to bind your soul to hers?”

Merlin watched his mother deliver the words, a sad twinkle in her eye. Indisputably this moment was bringing back memories of Balinor and their own wedding. She concealed it almost the second it had spread from her mind and into her eyes, expertly continuing with the Druid traditions.   

"I am.” Lancelot spoke in a weak, breathless voice. Gwen grinned back in exhilaration, unable to disguise her contentment. Hunith moved her palms to hover over the woman’s cinnamon skin.

“And Gwenevere, do you accept this man as yours? Are you willing to give this man your heart, to bind your soul to his for better or for worse?”

The words rung out across the settlement, spurring a residual glow from all the Druids around. Despite feeling hundreds of eyes on her, watching intently and all waiting eagerly for her next words, Gwen spoke brazenly, _boldly._ She spoke with that fierceness and determination that had saved and driven so many to freedom.

“I do.” She gazed up at the man who hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a single heartbeat. Their eyes were smothered with affection as they engaged in a silent conversation, that only they could hear.

“You are now joined in this life,” Hunith rested her hands over theirs. A golden thread wove itself around their hands, creating a mesmerising glimmer. It slowly faded away, leaving a tingle against their skin.

“And in the next.”

The Druids began to cheer in rejoicing. Slowly, they leant towards each other, lips meeting tentatively. The kiss encompassed everything about Lancelot and Gwen: honesty, loyalty, and true love. In pure mirth, Merlin held up his palm, spewing a pair of white doves from his hands and a large helping of tiny shimmering orbs. The doves flew around the pair; the orbs adding a brilliant glow to the scene as the setting sun created a stark contrast behind them. Arthur added a sprinkle of colour also, eyes flashing silver. In seconds, the Ealdor-Erendol Clan were igniting staggering patterns into the sky in jubilation. For that moment, it felt as if Albion herself had emerged and given her blessing - a tingling sensation that felt truly limitless.

**♦☼♦**

“If your father could see you now.” The woman mused, seemingly more herself than she had been in _months._

Lifting his head, Merlin roused his attention to the gentle, warm-hearted woman. Instantly, his expression softened. He never dreamt he would see his mother again, not like _this._ She was bordering contentment that resembled her previous self, the woman before her entire life was destroyed. Her eyes, well they sparkled like the Crystals themselves. Compulsively, Merlin took a step towards her; she pressed her hands to his face affectionately, holding him there.

“He would be _so proud,”_ She whispered through a smile that met her eyes for the first time in _months._ “So proud of what you’ve done, of the man you’ve become.”

Despite his doubts, because there had been dark hours, Merlin refuted against affirming it aloud. The last thing he wanted was to shatter his mother’s words, or undermine the invaluable potential within them. Instead, he smiled gently, not small enough to cause concern in her but enough to instigate curiosity.

“I heard his voice, you know.” Merlin recalled the moment in his mind. He had been frightened, _scared_ for his people. He had been on the verge of losing everything. When he needed it most, that _voice_ had filled him with immense strength and courage. “I was ready to accept my failure, then his voice called out to me.”

Hunith appeared unsurprised by this revelation, her smile growing.

“He will _always_ be here, even after death.” Caressing a hand down her son’s face, she continued. “He will _always_ be here for you.” Pulling his head down, for he was significantly taller, Hunith placed a soft kiss on the tip of his forehead where messy black hair began to drape over. With that, Hunith left her son’s company, trailing back down to join the excited, bustling people of Ealdor who were restored with hope and freedom.

Staring out across the settlement below, Merlin leant lightly against the entrance of the Crystal Cave. He heard the footsteps crackling against the jagged stones inclining upwards before his eyes rested on the long, dreary shadow the sun stretched out as it began to burrow close to the horizon. There was a thick silence between the pair. Arthur sliced through it, his voice lacking its usual conviction.

“Do you think he would be proud?”

A spectrum of emotions whirled around these words, beginning with distress and despair, ending at the latter where the words became hollow and dry. Raising his head, Arthur folded his arms over his chest.

“Of _his_ son.”

Retaining his gaze over the people of Eorendel, Merlin swallowed-hard. The name hadn’t been spoken but the implications were there, and very much inferred. There was clear hesitance to answer this question. Despite Arthur’s beautiful stillness, his void; he was waiting expectantly, a bitter twist unfolding at the rims of his eyes. Merlin settled with the only thing that could both satisfy and dissatisfy Arthur; the truth.

“I don’t think,” accentuating every syllable, afraid of tripping over them, Merlin sighed. “he deserved to be.”

Bowing his head at these words, Arthur felt himself wince. He eyes darted towards Merlin, vision precariously wavering between the ground and the man beside him. His unreadable lips were taut over his skin.

“He didn’t deserve many things.”

The bite to his voice pleaded for a challenge yet there was an underlining poignancy. Merlin didn’t need to retrace the words to extract their true meaning. Teeth clenched, he forced himself to keep looking ahead. The irrepressible rage inside him, the dismay at what he found – it was difficult to overlook. Angling his neck to one side warily, Merlin caved and gazed over at Arthur. The blonde blinked slowly, instinctively sweeping his attention towards the Druid. In that moment, all the fire inside Merlin disintegrated into devastating ashes.

“Perhaps not,” The ferocity in his voice contradicted his admission. Almost instantaneously, this melted into compassion. Merlin could not feel for _him,_ but he could feel for Arthur – even when he didn’t want to. “That was his own decision, and you _know_ that it was.”

Suddenly, Arthur leant closer, tensions snapped and withdrawn emotions were dangerously exposed.

“He was _my father_ Merlin!” he hissed dejectedly, eyes watery and despondent. Pause. Sucking in his bottom lip, Arthur continued urgently. “I loved him I… _even_ after everything he did. I still love him.” Trembling, shame consuming him, Arthur took a step backwards furiously.

“What kind of man does that make _me?_ ”

“Not a good one.”

Burying his face into his hands, Arthur groaned dismally. Not a good one. He _already_ knew that, he just didn’t want to hear it from the one person whose view of him mattered the most. Panic flushed through him. He shouldn’t have told Merlin, he should have allowed this secret to haunt him instead. He heard Merlin’s feet crunching against the stones. But instead of growing fainter, the sound grew louder. Arthur hitched a breath nervously as it all descended back into silence. He could feel Merlin was close to him now.

“It makes you a better one, Arthur.”

Arthur lowered his hands, stunned by the confession. Meeting Merlin’s enigmatic eyes, he stared in confusion. It took a few seconds to regain composure, in which he asked his final question, quiet voice trailing out into the sunset.

“Do you think,” he laughed, ducking his head slightly at the thoughts in his head. Merlin remained silent, but his proximity was enough encouragement for Arthur to continue.

“Do you think now he’s gone that- that he’s watching too?”

“No.” Merlin replied quickly, watching their voices dance around the sky between the final few specs of wispy cloud.

He turned to Arthur warmly. Arthur’s lips revealed the ends of a forbidden smile, as they admired the golden beginning in front of them.

“I think that he’s learning.” 

**♦☼♦**

The room was dark, scarcely lit. The sense of sound was far more reliable than that of sight. Despite the darkness, her eyes were clasped shut tightly. A voice resounded from the other side of the room. Light trickled in slowly. It hurt, the light _hurt._ It burnt her eyelids, pummelling them with blotches of purple and crimson. She cowered back into the shadows, inhaling a shaky breath of air.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” A new voice whispered. Pause. “You’re _safe_ now, I’ve found you.”

“Wh-where, where am I?” The woman in the shadows shrieked, stumbling backwards from the voice in despair. “Where am I?”

“All of Camelot have been searching for you.” The voice said, not answering the question. The voice spoke again, full of disappointment and regret.

“ _They_ didn’t come-”

“-They didn’t _know…_ ” the woman snapped back quickly, gasping for air as shock clouded her system. “Th-they _would_ have come. They would _have-_ ” Immediately her resolve broke as she clasped a hand to her mouth, pushing back the tears in her throbbing eyes.

“They _knew-”_ the other voice said slowly.

“-Why should I trust _you?”_ the other woman spat vehemently.

“Because it’s become perfectly clear that you can no longer trust anyone else. It’s okay. I _understand_ what it’s like, to be abandoned by those you love, to be completely tossed into darkness.” she drew the woman on the ground into her arms. “All we have, is each other now.”  

“Yes. You’re right, sister.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Druite ae duione - Child of ours, an Ealdean dialect used by the people of Ealdor. Usually used to welcome/in particular ceremonies particularly marriage.  
> -
> 
> ...SURPRISE (or not)!! I've already written a substantial part of it. I wasn't sure whether to extend the ending of this, or really use the material I've got. But I decided I couldn't let go what's in my head! 
> 
> This will be more like a "special". I'm not anticipating it to be as long, simply because I don't have the time. 
> 
> I estimate it'll be roughly 100,000 words...but then again I know what I'm like so who knows! 
> 
> I can confirm that as I'm still studying the special won't be released until Summer 2014 (I hope it'll be worth the wait :D). 
> 
> \- MASTERPOST-  
> There will be a masterpost link here soon with everything including:
> 
> -The Official Soundtrack  
> -An E-book version (PDF) compatible with E-readers (hopefully!)  
> -Deleted scenes & notes  
> -Artwork  
> -A little TEASER scene for the special ;) 
> 
> Keep your ears and eyes peeled! 
> 
> (I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINISHED SERIOUSLY GUYS)
> 
> 02/2014-   
> To confirm a sequel IS in the works. I'm just getting my head around the sub-plots, character stories and overlying themes. I want to make it as good - so this is going to take planning time as the first book did. I CAN'T WAIT TO SHOW IT TO YOU ALREADY THOUGH OMG.


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